Abbendis
by Sub-Zero879
Summary: High General Brigitte Abbendis. Just another tale of tragedy in Azeroth's long history. But with the warning of the Dreadlord by a passing warlock, how much might the fate of the Scarlet Crusade be altered under its last living "good" founder?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**World of Warcraft and all expansions belongs to Blizzard Entertainment, and I own nothing more than the the retail disks of it. This story is a non-profit fanfiction rendition of their story with added original characters. Do not do anything that resembles purchasing this story.

A tip: It would help if you brushed up on Abbendis' lore beforehand. Perhaps reading through her diary on wowwiki or wowhead.

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Abbendis

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"_Come to me..."_

Abbendis awoke feeling light, with joy brimming inside her. The Light had spoken to her in her dreams. Finally! She quickly retrieved her diary and recorded the event, precise yet flowery script detailing every small thing she could remember of it along with her renewed hopes. The Scarlet Crusade's ardor was paying off.

xx

"High General Abbendis," a voice called, low and confident.

Abbendis turned, eyes narrowed at the darkness. "Who goes there? Show yourself!"

She could make out a man-shape walking forward. The steps were lazy, the gait not matching any of the Crusade. She eased a hand onto her sheathed axe, debating whether she should call for soldiers out of hand. An assassin would be surprised against her, however. Her Light-given strength was formidable.

The man was close enough for her to make out details, and he stopped his approach. He wore dark robes, shoulders reflecting light with great crystals. His expression was aloof, from what she could see under his hood. At his side was a woman with wings and hoofs – a demon succubus. In the same voice, floating against her with a touch of inquisition, he said, "You know what I am?"

"A warlock," she nearly spat, loathing the disgusting path. However, they weren't explicitly something against the Light, nor always sympathizers with the Scourge. She knew of many that had perished in the battles against Kel'thuzad. "Explain yourself, scum."

"Ah, the compassionate hand of the Light. I expected such a welcome," he droned mockingly, and Abbendis seethed inside. The Light was just, a strong hand against that which was evil. Any devoted follower knew that compassion wasn't to be given blithely. A warlock deserved none on mere whim. "Well, I bring news for your ears alone. A curiosity struck me in my passing most recently."

Hand now firmly on her weapon, Abbendis asked, "How did you get here? Why were you not stopped by my men?"

"Ah, those. There is a fine trail of blood behind me in my attempts to reach you. The message is worth it, however. And to be fair, with each assailant – for your men struck the first blow each time – I tried explaining my need for you," he said.

"Told you this was a bad idea, master," his demon sing-songed in her vile temptress voice.

Abbendis gritted her teeth, realizing he had killed her men to infiltrate the city. The line of corpses must had been thin, considering his unruffled appearance and the few out on night sentry, but still she was loath to hear of it. For him to brave her men, knowing the strength of even the weak unbelievers that he might have encountered, meant his word must have been worth it.

Instead of sentencing his death, she demanded, "Speak."

He was silent for a moment, studying her with his shadowed eyes. He stood as far in the shadows as was acceptable. Finally, his voice came neutrally: "You surprise me, High General. I had suspected overzealous foolishness permeated all the founders of the Crusade, yea like your father. I did not expect you to listen."

"I will not for much longer, warlock. My patience runs thin."

She saw his smile, and he inclined his head to her. "Indeed. Are you aware that last night a powerful force of fel conjuration, that is to say demonic magic, centered upon your city, yea your very residency?"

Her eyebrows immediately furrowed at his words. She remembered her dream, the Light speaking with her – the town had been abuzz with it the whole day – yet nothing stood out as an evil presence. "What are you speaking of?"

"Something demonic reached for you, High General Abbendis. If you are a fellow practitioner, then I will congratulate and admire your strength before making my leave. Such a secret is safe with me. However, if you are unawares, know this: such strength as what I felt last night I have felt on only the rarest occasion, and never on Azeroth."

"I am no warlock," she snapped, but his words had her mind reeling. That voice had to have been the Light. Not... what he was implying. However, how could this outsider have known of the presence the previous night? His kind couldn't feel the Light, only that of his kind – fel energies. No one else within the town had felt even a whisper of the great hand of the Holy Light the previous night. She forced herself to be steady. "What are you saying by this? A demon visited my dreams?"

"Ah, so you are aware of something amiss. Very good. Dream, you say?" He paused, then shook his head, returning to her question: "Not just any demon, High General. Powerful, matching horrors witnessed only on Outlands. The only such demon I know of that remains on Azeroth is the Nathrezim. The Dreadlords."

The weapon under her fingers was reassuring, yet still Abbendis nearly shivered at his words. To think that she even _might_ have been met by such was unbelievable. "What proof of this can you give, warlock? And speak your name!"

"Dangerous demand," the succubus cooed, sensuous voice sly.

The man ignored her. "I will be candid with you, High General, and hope you above petty reprimand. I have no love for the Scarlet Crusade. However, I believe that while there should be discrimination in your purging of undead bodies, your work against the Scourge has been invaluable. I have respect for this necessary evil, even with the Scarlet blood on my hands of the overzealous."

Before Abbendis could challenge him, rage flashing hot, he pressed on: "I seek your preservation. And just how failure starts by removing those at the top, protection begins at the top. If demons are at work here, manipulating the Scarlet Crusade, it is you, Abbendis, that I seek and pass warning to. That you were targeted betrays much of the intent."

Still angry, she wanted to call him an undead sympathizer for his words, yet those following forced her tongue to stay, which made things frustrating. She didn't release her weapon, still unsure if she would have him slain or not. Even the adventurers that traveled out and undertook great challenges, like this man, would be no match to her Light-granted strength.

She said as much with, "You know that should I wish for your death, you do not have the strength to stop me?"

His demon made an angry sound, stepping before the warlock with a whip in hand. The man, however, stopped her with a hand on her bare shoulder and moved the demon back to the side. He answered, slyly, "Indeed if we fight, you will slay me. But as always, it will be me with the last laugh. Now, what did the demon tell you last night?"

Abbendis leveled him with another challenging look, seeing only his casual impassiveness, and then snarled and released her weapon, turning on a heel. "Follow me."

xx

Once he finished reading her passage, Abbendis snapped it shut, preventing him from reading her other entries. It would be best, she assumed, if he heard of the dream in the most vivid recount – that of her diary. Of course, that also meant him and his demon inside her bedchamber.

The man wasn't as seedy in appearance as she had suspected. His face was set arrogantly, his smirks haughty, but he might have been attractive in a spotless white tabard and polished red armor. His demon was a pretty harlot, as was expected, but her demonic deformities were disgusting.

Sitting in her writing chair, the warlock rubbed his hairless chin pensively. "The demon wouldn't have impressed anything you couldn't understand. What did it want you to do? Why cold?"

"It wanted me to set sail to Northrend, to fight the Lich King on his own doorstep," she said, and the doubt returned. Clearly the Light would approve of such bold tactics, especially with their current strength. What demon would want to help the Light against the Scourge?

"Eliminates the Burning Legion's powerful turncoat and throws away Crusader lives. Clever. I bet the Nathrezim had means to take command as well, if it..." he paused, head tilting, and he said, "No, it hasn't infiltrated your forces yet. However, there is no doubt its hand was behind the vision."

Abbendis hated that he made the possibility so real, so believable. It really couldn't have been the Light, and still her prayers were unanswered by the coveted force she so ardently believed in.

Even more, she hated the degenerated presence of her command as she asked him, "What should be done regarding this entity?" However, she couldn't allow it to continue sending such sweet deceptions into hers or any others dreams. Nothing had the right to emulate the Holy Light!

"What can be done?" he dismissed, shrugging. "It is much too distanced to sense, its power too great to stop. However, with your permission and promise of refuge, High General, I will remain among the Scarlet Crusade, as adviser to you – not in matters of the Crusade, that is your own affairs, but in matters of demonic. The Scourge is your foe; the Burning Legion is mine."

Abbendis didn't want to accept. She wanted to cast off this faithless warlock and not see him again. However, his help proved invaluable. She would follow the Light through any command. Her faith was great. However, she wasn't stupid. The demon could easily take advantage of that through its emulation. Without this warlock's warning, what might that demon have guided her towards under guise of the Holy Light?

"I will not hear a word from you regarding the Crusade and its actions. You are not to even seek my presence unless you bring new word of the demon that did this. Are we understood?"

"Time alone with just my books? I couldn't ask for anything better. Of course, you will provide residence, food, and supplies with my stay, correct?"

She bit her thumb at the thought of him leaching their resources over a side issue from the Scourge, but it was important. "Of course."

xx

"You know, for someone who wished my presence in banishment, you have a tenancy to seek me," the warlock said, snapping his book closed and setting in on his table. He gave her an amused look, steepling his fingers under it and before him. He faced her across the table. "What shall I advise for you today, High General Abbendis?"

Abbendis kept the scowl from her face as she took another few steps into the room. She glanced at the bookshelf to her right, seeing that none of them remained dusted – though the thick musk remained. To the left were various forgotten nicknacks, homely with their dark paints and dyes with the aged wood – all of it bathed in gentle candlelight. It wasn't so dreary a warlock residence as she had suspected of him, rather quite intellectual.

His demon was at his side, leaning from her armless stool into his throne-like high-back. Her back rested against the wood of it, the ease of her stance betraying a familiarity to the position with her master. In her lap was another aged tome, the subject of which Abbendis didn't bother divining.

"I tire of your mystery. Tell me your name, warlock," she said and turned back to him.

It was true that this wasn't her first visit, despite her rather obvious study of the room. The first day, she had returned to discuss hiding the truth of the dream from the town. His words were nearly heresy, criticizing the ardor of the Scarlet Crusade ("-overblown reaction from your fanatical followers-"), yet spoke with a ring of truth to them she knew she must heed ("-would take it wrong, a sign that you have fallen under the sway of the shadow. Your new alliance with myself will be brought to light, and "justice" will be meted-"). The necessary caution the Crusade needed to practice in regards to their own ranks made the secret an unfortunate necessary.

The man's head tilted just so in another arrogant and defiant gesture, then dipped in acquiescence, the smile remaining. "I am Marcarius, High General, of the Alliance. Is that your only reason for visiting?"

"Keep to yourself, Marcarius, if you wish to live out your days," she warned, not with benevolence, and left his study.

She knew why his presence invoked her ire so readily, with his undisciplined mannerism and warlock nature. If it weren't for the need, she would have nothing to do with him. However, the man had a level – if blinded – head on his shoulders, and ability in which would never be found in the Crusade. It was an advantage.

She respected his word, enough that she wouldn't cut out his tongue for when he slandered. She didn't know how long she might keep him around – perhaps even until the demon made its appearance and was felled – and she was of mixed feelings of having him leave. Relief clashed with unease that the protection he granted would dissolve.

For now, however, she was glad that he remained quiet enough that his presence had brought barely a stir among her men. More important to them was the buzz of excitement for the Light's message to her. Keeping that secret brought along the unpleasantries of having it build. Now word spread of the Crimson Dawn – from Bishop Street, the day that would incite great change for the Crusade.

She debated going back to the warlock, Marcarius, for his opinion on them actually marching for Northrend – for she found the plan to be sound, if executed right and under her command. However, the personal loathing outside their professional relationship interfered, and she declined. He didn't decide for the Scarlet Crusade.

xx

"Ah, I knew you would come," Marcarius mentioned upon her entrance, again seated in his chair. His smile was knowing, and the anxiety in her heart was proven well-founded. "I sought to find you when I first felt the fel conjuration fall upon the town, but I respected your wishes and remained here, to stay the waters of the fall out. Indeed it was the demon, High General, yea a Nathrezim upon my closer study of its source."

Abbendis wanted to shout and curse, but she had the self-control to do neither. The vision had been so vivid, so beautiful. The Light spoke clear and strong, like she always imagined, and it moved her heart with joy and satisfaction. _Come to Northrend_, it wanted, and it was so easy to taste that sweet deception, masked within rightful intentions. The following misted breath had been a miracle of wonders.

To hear it was sham and the work of the shadow gave her goosebumps. Even with her great strength and the blessing of the Holy Light, she wasn't immune to this sickening grasp inside her will. She watched, dismayed, as both Jordan and Street were deeply moved by the demon, falling fast for its trickery. She wanted to speak honestly with them, let the truth be known, yet she had suspicions of the Bishop, fearing the effects of his friendship with LeCraft.

She put it all behind her now, strong and confident. "What else did you find in your study?"

"The caster resides in Northrend. It's personification of "me" is indeed an address to an individual, yea the demon itself. If you remain on course to sacrifice yourselves in Northrend, when the Plaguelands alone have proven too resilient a weed to purge entirely, you will be brought into direct contact with this Dreadlord – and whether or not you can slay him, it will be costly and devastate your Crusade."

"We will not balk at lost lives when such means the end of a great perversion to the Light. An entity such as this living among us, worse still trying to _influence_ us, must find its final justice and face the unrelenting hand of the Light," she retorted hotly.

"For once, I couldn't agree more," he said, amusement evident on his face. "If Northrend is the path you set upon, I will accompany you and assist in confronting this demon. I would enjoy seeing the Scarlet hand of the Light striking against the Legion."

Abbendis felt there was insult in his response, but the excitement over the recent vision left her feeling drained. She asked him, "Is there anything else for you to report?"

He turned thoughtful, turning an eye down to the stack of books on his table, then returned his attention to her. "Fear not that the Nathrezim is observing his failure to coerce you, High General. At most, it may only sense your position, and not very finely at that. It will only know when you have adhered to its whispers and are coming, and once closer, the location of your landing."

The words were relieving. Abbendis nodded, adjusting the hilt of her weapon at her side. "Remain vigilant, warlock. You have value to me, for now."

A slow smile spread on him, and he inclined his head politely. In parting, he addressed, "High General."

She sniffed dismissively at him, turning in place and leaving.

Another demon-sent. Abbendis' fist clenched. Another time that Marcarius proved his worth. Oddly, his presence, no matter how unpleasant, was also reassuring. She could focus on the Light, her faith and prayers, now without fear of influence. She might have even if he had never passed warning of the Nathrezim, but now there was an honest relief for it.

xx

"High General Abbendis!" a masculine voice bellowed.

Abbendis turned to see High Abbot Landgren approaching with brisk steps, his expression angered. It wasn't her he was angry at; she knew the reason and felt much the same. He came to her side and walked with her, keeping pace with her own angry march.

"I know," she growled to him. "I will see to it."

The man huffed and broke from her side. "See that you do. We are lucky those weak in faith cannot detect such heresy!"

Warlock arts weren't heresy, but she was of agreement. Abbendis kicked open Marcarius' door and stormed inside, burning with anger. He wasn't in the study, as she knew he wouldn't be. She moved into the bedroom, the candlelight flickering from the wake of her passing. From the musky study she entered a spartan bedroom, no more than he deserved, but now there was an abominable set up in the center of the room.

Candles were packed heavily, all wicks lit and the wax globbing down the sides. More importantly, however, was the green runes glowing with demonic energy, circling around in a unnerving and alien pattern, themed by several expanding circles. Inside the center was Marcarius, sitting with his legs crossed and a tome opened on one leg. His right hand was held up, glowing with energies of the void, and he muttered softly to himself.

Upon entering with her loud steps, the man's demon phased into existence before her, a scowl on her pretty features. The succubus whispered harshly, "You will not disturb my master presently!"

Immediately Abbendis' hand was on her axe, and she began to draw it for a blow that would sever that disgusting head from her harlot body. Before she could, however, the low drone she had come to recognize said, "Stand aside, Aelina. What can I do for you, High General?"

Abbendis' shoulder-plate knocked the demon to the side as she pressed forward, the succubus making an oddly sexual sound at the blow. She scowled, pointed her axe at the warlock. "You are to cease this travesty at once! There is a void that anyone of the Holy Light can detect, a hole in our holy lands and order."

Marcarius studied her, hood removed presently. He sighed, and a waved hand had every candle in the room extinguish. The plunged into darkness, illuminated only by the far light behind Abbendis and the fel green runes. She saw him stand then and pull his hood up, the dark sentinel that he was.

Another wave canceled the runes, and then it was only her and the darkness. His voice pressed against her, mockingly, "As you command, High General. Forgive my impudence; I cannot allow myself to grow weak as I coddle myself in luxurious study. As you know, those that are weak cannot last. Lose your will as a Crusader and you become that which you so loath. The same is true for a warlock."

That was no excuse. "You will not blight our holy city with the void again," she spat, stepping forward into the darkness and glaring at where she knew him to be lurking. "If the need is dire, you will do so outside. If I find myself in need of reminding you of this, it will be with my axe!"

She turned and left, marching back out. That presumptuous warlock. She nearly hoped he would try again, just so she could finish him. She left the house to the outside and felt sweet sunlight settle on her again, and she soaked it in as if it were the Holy Light itself. Feeling that void within their city had been unsettling. It wasn't undeath, but the void had absorbed any Light within its radius.

Warlocks were not their enemy, but they might as well be!

xx

"_I will leave most of the Crusade here to continue mopping-up operations on the undead in our backyard. I imagine that once they have finished what we began, most will disband and go back to their homes to live in peace."_

Abbendis paused there, considering her words. She dipped her pin in the inkwell idly. She brought it back to her diary.

"_That somehow seems right. At our finest, we have always been the salt of the earth, rising up to take back our homes from the filth of the Scourge corruption, to return our Lordaeron to its former glory. To a time before the Scourge, before Arthas and regicide... before the Lich King."_

She ended the entry there, not much feeling like writing more. Only the most faithful were planned to leave for Northrend, her liking the proposition. An elite cadre of the most faithful to do the Light's bidding in Northrend, where the fighting would be most intense. Of course, the warlock would have to come as well. She sighed at that.

Leaving her diary on the desk next to her, she pulled herself under her blankets and blew out her candle. The burdens of a leader assailed her briefly, but she pushed them back with practiced ease and slept.

xx

"The message was urgent this time. If it had truly been the Light, I might have left this very day. The Nathrezim is growing impatient," Abbendis said, sitting across from Marcarius at his table. The books had been cleared away. It felt oddly cozy in here with the scholarly scents and gentle candlelight, and even with him, she felt at ease.

She continued, "It is great coincidence, however, that Captain Shely managed to procure a number of new ships for the voyage. It is as if the Holy Light shines upon our decision."

"Perhaps it has, perhaps it is merely coincidental," Marcarius answered, skeptical and aloof. "The urgency provides concern. Perhaps it merely fears its sham has been discovered. However, more likely is that something is happening on Northrend and it fears that its investment and personal army is at risk. I propose readying those ships with great haste."

Abbendis leaned back in her chair, listening to the aged wood creak. She was thoughtful, absently sipping her tea – the warlock had actually produced a pot for them when she came to check for the authenticity of the dream, though his answer seemed fairly obvious. She had to admit, he surprised her by successfully pulling off a good batch of tea.

"Interesting theory," she said finally. "Perhaps it would be in our advantage to begin defensive measures. Caution has always proved a faithful course. Is there news on your side regarding the demon?"

The warlock shook his head. "The conjuration came in and then dispersed, like a thief at night. If you wish, I believe I devised a method to prevent this Nathrezim from reaching you again."

It was tempting, but ultimately Abbendis rejected his offer. If it couldn't reach her, odds were that it would try the others. One individual involved in the conspiracy was enough, it wasn't certain that whomever was next could handle it with any sense of reasonableness. Over-eagerness was common in some Crusaders, she admitted grudgingly.

Oddly, she felt no qualms about sitting here speaking with Marcarius over tea. Nothing apparent had changed between them, but his casual disregard for things didn't irk her the same way it usually did. She hoped it didn't mean a loosening of the values of the Light that she held so dearly. She vowed to spent a great deal of time in prayer after the meeting.

"Far it be it from me to lecture you on how to handle battles against the Scourge, but I also advise you remind those who aren't soldiers the importance of getting out of the way of battle. Each corpse lost on your side means a new enemy rising. Even an advantaged battle may turn tides quickly from that."

"I am aware, warlock," she scoffed, but her heart wasn't in the scorn. She mentally scheduled a review of orderly evacuation for civilians, especially those in the farmlands outside the city. She stood from the table then, her cup of tea finished. "Be ready to leave within the week. The Scarlet Onslaught will set sail then."

"Of course, High General."

xx

As with Naxxramas only a few years prior, the necropolis appeared with terrible suddenness. It hovered over the Havenshire farms, silent and menacing and by no means a wonder. It's appearance threw the civilians into an immediate panic, rushing away from their farms and towards the protective walls of New Avalon. Abbendis felt satisfaction at the review she had only just recently put them through.

It wasn't despair that settled low inside her chest. It was hunger, the pulse of righteous hatred. After being shown the looming fortress, she shouted her orders, preparing her people not only for invasion but to finalize the ships leaving. Depending on the results of this battle, she would be setting sail within the eve with only the most faithful of the Crusade. Bound for Northrend.

Amazingly, the rapid preparations she had thrown together at Marcarius' warning proved fruitful. An unholy eye had appeared within the city, divined to be spying on their defenses and key buildings like the town hall. The legions of archers and crossbowmen caught sight of it; their readiness had them bring the eye down orderly, finishing it during its frantic retreat back to the necropolis.

Of course, it was not without loses. Just that Scourge construct wrecked great havoc, raising ghouls from the ground that none had known corpses to reside. The citizens of Havonshire were tasked with burning all corpses, ghoul and Crusader alike, to prevent any new rising dead. It gave them a purpose – for which she was relieved.

She was indebted to the warlock further for his warning as they had stocked enough supplies to support the huge exodus of Havenshire. Without those preparations, she felt there might be stirrings of a riot on their hands.

It was during those thoughts, moving towards the council of their defense, when a great horn sounded. The necropolis was miles away, floating just past Havenshire's borders, yet still its trumpeter's blare reverberated with menace through New Avalon. Her hand gripped her axe on instinct, lip curling balefully. That was a horn of war.

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AN: I'm normally never the guy that asks after reads and reviews, but for just this story, I'm making an exception. Abbendis is already finished, and I'm actually quite fond of the whole thing. If the premise is to your liking, I encourage you to follow the whole story - you won't be disappointed. I'll be posting the rest periodically, to give it some theatrical unveiling.

Also, reading through Abbendis' diary on wowhead or wowwiki is a nice read-along for this fic, up to a certain point.


	2. Chapter 2

xx

They had cavalry, gryphon riders, bowmen, knights, and crusaders by the legions. Abbendis prepared to give the word to launch a full counterattack, confident that they had prepared enough to drive out the Scourge in one crushing blow. Havenshire was holy land! She would not allow it to be tainted by the Scourge into the abominable wastes of the Plaguelands.

"Forsake Havenshire," a smooth voice called out from behind her.

Abbendis turned sharply, as did her personal guard, to see the warlock and his demon prowling forth from the dark between two homes. She wasn't yet to the armies. Angrily, she opened her mouth to reprimand his insubordination – he had no voice in Scarlet affairs – but the hot words died on her tongue when she received a better look at him.

When not lounging in simpler clothing within his cot, the warlock's raiment consisted of beautiful cloth coming in bright dyes and dark highlights, enhanced with enchanted gems and crystals that could only mean a veteran of the alien world Outland – verified by his own words. His staff was bold and polished, his hood tailored to shadow his face. While she preferred the immaculate white and crimson of the Scarlet Crusade, he did well in keeping up his appearance even by her standards.

Now, he moved with his weight slumped to a dirty staff, like a mere walking stick. His robes were frayed, slashed, and caked in light mud and dark splashes of dried blood. His hood had fallen behind him, revealing bruises along his left cheek. Even his demon, always sashaying with the perfect body and attitude of a temptress, was injured and grimy.

His final steps betrayed a limp before he eased to a halt before her. He respectfully bowed his head and gave a slow yet solid salute to her, then looked her in the eyes. "High General."

Abbendis' jaw tensed, and she steadied herself before speaking to prevent a stutter. "Report."

"I finished a reconnaissance of the Scourge landing point. The fortress spills forth more filth than I remember Naxx ever holding. Their position is already entrenched and fortified, atop the mountain ledge that oversees the farmlands. I witnessed a great number of Scourge archers in position to demolish whatever force you send against them."

He paused, looking down towards the Scarlet Crusade army, seeing the many thousands Abbendis took pride in. The man was no fool; he knew that a few well-positioned archers would be of little use against their numbers. He continued then, "While in a normal scenario, I'd say that you'd suffer only moderate loses in overrunning that position, my inspection revealed a defense unlike any other."

Gesturing at the state of him and his demon, he shook his head. "There are Scourge warriors, champions unlike any I've encountered before. I heard the word "Death Knight" get thrown around. They are... strong, yea stronger than I could ever have anticipated." His eyes went back to hers then and he straightened to his full height and confidence and spoke with a strange sureness, "If you send those troops against them, you will lose this war without a doubt."

"Hmp, what kind of fool gets drawn into conflict on a reconnaissance mission?" one mounted knight dismissed. "You underestimate the strength of the Light, warlock."

Abbendis narrowed her eyes at Marcarius. At times, it was easy to forget that he was one of the reputed adventurers, constantly undergoing mercenary work for those who paid. Seeing him blood-soaked like this, she was reminded of how many wars he must have seen through his life. It lent his claims credibility.

"So you say this foe cannot be defeated?" she challenged finally.

"High General," Marcarius addressed, appearing suddenly to her eyes as a fellow soldier – not the lax, arrogant warlock she knew. "The Lich King himself oversees these Death Knight... experiments. Only the Ashbringer, uncorrupted, could bring victory here."

"Ashbringer corrupted? Hah!" the knight mocked. His blond mustache bristled with his words. "That weapon, and it's wielder, are the very embodiment of the Light's justice. Anything impure that stands before it is consumed in flames. It simply cannot be corrupted."

"Mind on the matter, Sir Goldring," Abbendis chided without heat. Unknown to even her own men, she had been present at, and contributed to, the forging of that very weapon. She knew of its beginning as a Void crystal, antithesis of the Light, and by the look in Marcarius' eyes, feared that some event may have returned it to its dark origins.

Regardless, the rest of his words registered to her. They did not have the legendary weapon here with them. The Lich King, whom she had amassed the ships, supplies, culled her soldiers for those strong and pure in the Light, whom they were prepared to set sail against, was _here_, _now._ And Marcarius, who supported her plan for sailing, now told her victory was out of their reach. If her men weren't around her presently, she would tear the warlock a new one!

It took great effort to keep the sarcastic drawl out of her voice when she said, "So, warlock, what would you have us do? Flee without fighting? Lie down and let the Scourge trample over us? _Parlay_ with the Traitor-King?" Strangely, seeing the flat look in the beat up Marcarius' eyes, she started to regret her disregard. The man did not deserve it.

He accepted her bite with his usual aloofness, lip turning up in a half-smile. "How remarkable that you asked. In my experience, I am usually commanded to do the heavy lifting, whether it turns the tides of battle or nay." Then his lips pursed and he looked towards the army, seriously considering her question. "Firstly, I would have you fight _differently._ They are stronger, and their numbers are too many. Do not engage them directly..."

He paused, turned back to her, and said with utter sincerity, "High General, I will advise you to the best of my ability, and I will not shirk from dirtying my hands here. You will not be disappointed."

Abbendis quickly stopped her slack-jawed expression. That was _not_ what she had intended. And despite the building outrage of her honor guard and military advisers around her, she found herself willing to trust him, to an extent. The Scarlet Crusade were vastly more experienced in fighting the Scourge, but a weathered veteran's rounded experience would bring welcomed insight. Already he stopped their confident head-long assault with crucial information of the defense.

"Well then, Commander Marcarius, fall in line," she announced, to the horror of her men. Perhaps she had just lost her mind. She hid her smile, barking sharply, "And get yourself to a bloody healer, for the Light's sake!"

xx

_To the Argent Dawn,_

_The Lich King is on the move. At the dawn of this morning, the necropolis Acherus appeared over Havenshire in the Scarlet Crusade lands and has since spilled forth the filth you are well acquainted with. The Lich King himself is here and commands this necropolis. He seeks not the elimination of this small thorn in his foot but to test new champion soldiers titled Death Knight... Among these Scourge champions, I've recognized the faces of many heroes of old. Heroes of the Light, of the Alliance, of the Horde. Returned._

_We request immediate dispatch of reinforcements. The Scarlet Crusade may be tolerable as a rabid dog, but they are enemies of your enemy. Plus, you owe me for Stratholme, so get off your shining asses and send the damn dispatch!_

_-Marcarius, Warlock of the Alliance,_

_brother of the Argent Dawn,_

_temporary Commander of the Scarlet Crusade army_

_with_

_-High General Brigitte Abbendis of the Scarlet Crusade_

_PS. Begin a preliminary fortification of Light's Hope Chapel. If The Scarlet Enclave falls, it will be next. Expect refugees._

Abbendis handed the letter to the courier, watching him mount behind a gryphon rider and take off. It felt wrong wasting one of their precious riders for a non-battle related task, especially when all the courier mounts were fresh and ready in the stables, yet Marcarius had insisted. The message was too precious to risk interception, and it would be fastest.

She paused to look out to the ocean, where the blazing ship was still shining its beacon light of orange flames. The rest of that half of the fleet was docking at this moment, crammed among the others at the small cove. One of the warlock's first recommendations was the immediate withdrawal of the fleet at Light's Point. His short argument for the blathering admiral had been, "It's too close," and Abbendis made the command final.

Not an hour later, with the ships unraveling their ropes to leave, only half stocked from the supply line, the last in line suddenly turned its cannons on the boarding troops. Every man was lost for that ship, and the last report was a Death Knight dwarf looking like the fallen Argent Dawn hero Malvin Greybeard laughing as he flew away from the burning ship on a skeletal gryphon.

One ship lost was an insignificant loss, but Abbendis suspected a similar plan for the rest, or at least the entire legion of troops that had been waiting at shore would have been lost to the powerful cannon if they hadn't finished boarding their own ships. Even Goldring had ceased his complaints of Marcarius.

Presently, the warlock was speaking to a small team of knights. He wanted the Scarlet Crusade to be masters of the sky in this war, having kept all the gryphons in reserve thus far. Each lost gave the Scourge another bone gryphon. He anticipated the presence of frost wyrms, a horror the Crusade hadn't seen in years. Their best defense against such would be a battalion of gryphon riders. Already two scores of them had been set aside for just that chance, taking most of the birds, and held watch by a small army for defense. The Lich King himself would have to break the lines to get to those gryphons.

While most were waiting uselessly, Marcarius planned to take several and sneak into the Scourge defenses with the strongest of her paladins. The plan was to thin the roosts of the Scourge gryphons, giving them a better chance in the air. That was Marcarius' announced intentions, at least. The warlock had a sly look in his eye that boded something more. That he refused to tell her _what_ infuriated her, but he had earned the trust to do as he pleased.

Her arrival drew his attention, and the warlock tapped a salute to her. "High General."

"Commander," she returned, saluting back with a nod. She paused, then glanced towards the burning ship – still not completely sunk. Softer than intended, she asked, "How did you know?"

Marcarius' posture relaxed, and he looked towards the black-specked hills of Havenshire were the Scourge armies continued to pour from. "Because, you see... it's what I would have done. Arthas Menethil is just a man, once a hero... yea, he was once an adventurer not unlike myself. I won't see all that's coming, but we'll think similarly enough." He smiled here, the sly look returning when turning back to here. "And High General, the Lich King is expecting to fight the overzealous Scarlet Crusade. He won't see _me_ coming."

She snorted. "I read your letter before signing. You have a way with words, you uncivilized cur."

"That's Commander Cur, milady!" he announced, then laughed. He actually laughed. It was hearty, like any other man, and he didn't seem at all like the seedy warlock he was. She noticed something in this battle, this war, brought him to life in ways she never expected. This man _lived_ for this. "Mount up, men. Let's make a feast of some Scourge chickens!"

No one appreciated his cheer, sending apprehensive glances at Abbendis and expecting reprimand. She growled a curse under breath, then looked at the paladins. Strong in the Light, each one. "Trust in your commander, no matter the fool he may seem. For the Light! For Havenshire!"

They weren't footmen, to holler and cheer at a general's cry. The men addressed her title and nodded their heads, then mounted the gryphons. Marcarius sent them off, putting himself in lead and guiding them west to hide among the mountains.

Abbendis shook off her apprehension when watching them go. It just wouldn't do for the High General to feel regret over any soldier. _Damn you, Marcarius. You better return!_

She turned towards the front lines, where waves upon waves of ghouls clashed into the Scarlet ranks. Marcarius' council wouldn't win them the war, no matter how effective. When fighting Scourge, the Crusade couldn't be outdone by some outsider. Their pride was at stake! She swung up into her steed's saddle and galloped to the main army.

Commander Jordan hailed her, standing atop a hill where he could see the full scope of the battle from his horse. Once beside him, she said, "I want more archers on those walls. Have them target the Death Knights."

She watched as among the clamoring undead hordes, one man in black armor thrust his hand out, and a purple arch of energy lashed out and grabbed a soldier, yanking him from the line to his doom. A gleam of gold from the soldier had her smile. "You've put the knights in front?" Holy light blazed in a sudden flurry from the crusader, clashing into a rising tide of undeath and frosty magicks. The knight and the Death Knight were fairly well matched, until it was obvious that their priests were shielding and healing him. The Scourge Champion eventually swung too wide and lost his head for the mishap, and the knight easily fought his way through the ghouls back to their lines. Cheers greeted him.

Jordan smiled at the victory. "Not too many, but enough to challenge those accursed black champions. The priests have orders to give priority to our knights and paladins. I couldn't have that warlock the only one calling the right shots."

She noticed the death of one footman and his surprising rise back to his feet. Her tongue clucked when the man turned against his comrades, about to remind Jordan of the Scourge phenomenon, of each man lost another soldier of equal or greater strength on the other side, until she saw another man with an arrows in his body snatched back up the moment he fell, where the fighting was less intense. The body was carried back, to where she saw several civilians ready with wheelbarrows.

She noticed then several positions of similar setups, and one team hurrying back with a mound of bodies to the burning pyres of their slain. A closer look at their line of soldiers showed the strange churning of men moving back and forth through the masses, each carrying recovered corpses before they could be brought to life again. Jordan had prepared his troops well.

Acknowledging that to him, she turned and hurried deeper into New Avalon, where she could check on the progress of the fleets. If the tides turned against them, they would sail immediately, leaving the civilians to evacuate to Light's Hope Chapel. The Lich King would find them a bug not so easily squashed, even caught off-guard like this.

xx

"No doubt he'll be a tough nut to crack, but with the right... incentive, I'm sure I can pull out the information to help," High Inquisitor Valroth announced, his smile unsettling her in the way it usually did. The pleasure he found in dealing pain wasn't ideal, even if on the Scourge, but he excelled at his job.

A Death Knight had been captured, some careless male elf suspected of being highly ranked among the enemy. He was already being held in the jail beneath the barrack. She nodded at the interrogator. "I trust you'll see to the task personally. Now, High Inquisitor, I want your men out in the field. These Scourge knights are slipping past our lines all too often, and your men are the best versed in subtlety for ferreting them out. A team of knights have been tasked to assist in purging any of the rats you find."

Valroth tilted his head thoughtfully, then nodded acquiesce. "A fine and unexpected use for my men's abilities. I shall inform them immediately. Now, if you need me, I will be below, graciously playing host for our new... friend." His smile was back, and he turned, stalking back towards the barrack.

Abbendis ignored him, turning her mount to approach the waiting Landgren. "No doubt, if this Death Knight is of any significance to the enemy, they will come for him. I won't have him silenced before we drag out what information we can. I'll leave it to you and your High Priests to oversee our precautions."

Landgren nodded, looking pleased to finally take part in the battle. "Like mice in a trap, High General. Our prisoner will remain undisturbed." His salute was sloppy by military standards, but she trusted his ability to perform.

She realized she was relying on others' ability far more than she should be. Nothing was certain against the Scourge, especially the Lich King. She needed more fall-backs.

Patrolling the city, pleased to see the citizens still organized and purposeful. On the trip, she noticed the approach of several of their gryphons. Marcarius was returning, with only one man lost. Surprising, considering their mission. She hurried to the stables, readying her next orders for the warlock and wanting his insight on weakness in their current defenses.

The men stationed around the stables cleared way and saluted as she passed. Quickly scanning the faces of the paladins dismounting, she saw that while one gryphon was lost, all of her men managed to return. A notch of respect rose for her new commander. Abruptly, she frowned, realizing she couldn't spot the troublesome warlock.

"Sir Pendance," she addressed one paladin. "Where is the commander?"

Pendance was an old paladin, his brown beard now more grey than not, with wrinkles lining his eyes and giving his stern gaze the authority of age and experience. He was a veteran, near retirement when Lordaeron had been sacked by Arthas, and safely led the younger members of their Order away to the regrouping in the Plaguelands. He had battled hundreds of undead on the way, many times alone, without losing a single man in the exodus.

When he met her eyes after the question, she saw the deeply troubled look in those wise eyes. It answered her question, and she rocked back on her mount by the sudden news. He still answered, "Nay, High General... That warlock... That man... I doubt he'll be returning to us on this side of life, High General, blighted shame 'toh it be."

Abbendis never thought she'd feel regret over Marcarius' death, often debating being the executioner herself. With the practiced sturdiness of an experienced general, however, she looked past the loss and asked, "How did the commander fall?"

The other paladins, each as old and experienced as Pendance was, looked over at the conversation, shook their heads, and trod out on heavy boots. Blood shone on their armor, their maces still flecked with gore and ichor. None wished to speak.

Pendance took a breath and adjusted a gauntlet before speaking. "The young commander surprised me with his caution. We stopped behind the north'en mountains, where he... That shadow eye we saw early morn', you remember? He made his own, tiny and agile, and sent it to o'er hill to scout the Scourge camp, looking for the roost. He found it and we went in directly."

He paused, looking off to the north at the distant Scourge defense. His words quieted in memory. "I fancy myself powerful, High General. You be the greater woman, but the Light be bright and my arm be strong. I know each man and woman there with us, and each be powerful alike. At the roost stood only two blighted Death Knight – curse the name! - guards and the roost keeper 'emself. We had the numbers, but they halted us surely as an army.

"Very quickly, the commander crafted us a plan of battle. He made us leave the lass Gendal, aye the Unbreakable Gendal, alone to the Scourge wrath, and he tasked two of us to stay our weapons and heal her rather than lighten her burden. It be a strange battle for her life, constantly calling the Light to heal her wounds. The rest of us, an' the commander himself, tore into the guards from the side while they be distracted by ol' Gendal. Not our way, but it brought the Death Knights down surely.

"The roost keeper 'emself was the next halt, but rightly he was smite'd down. It was business from there, High General, and by swing of mace and dark warlock muttering we smote the many of those ghastly birds back to the grave. The commander called retreat early, but alas too late the command came. Reinforcements had arrived and neigh the most frightful battle of my long life began."

Abbendis waited for him to continue, knowing the end and eager for the method of the warlock's fall. Pendance stroked his mustache thoughtfully for another moment and began again: "I could ask no more stout brothers and sisters at my side than was already there, excepting yourself, High General. I had no love for the commander, but by the Light, he stood resolute and bravely. His mind twas sharp, aye, and twas Gendal and myself that braved the assault of the Scourge during our slow retreat. I never been so torn to pieces and put together in my years, but we survived."

He shook his head. "Nay, I ramble. Forgiveness. The commander's fall, yes. We reached the gryphons through Scourge claws and swords and mounted in a frantic. It was Sir Fulner that was taken. Those blighted Scourge knights can cast an unholy grip on men and beast, yanking them spans away to their doom. Fulner and his gryphon were tossed into the horde, and I expected the order to fly. Twould be a shame to fight Fulner on the field later, but it be a small loss to this victory.

"Instead, the command cast hell and shadow in fury, pushing back the Scourge enough for Fulner to break free. The bird was lost, but the man made it. By the Light, I roared cheer and defiance. But nay, the commander was to mount after Fulner. He had dismounted to free him, and a life traded for a life. He ordered our full retreat, then was next to be pulled into the Scourge. Brave, milady, braver than I could expect from his kind."

"I see," Abbendis concluded. She noticed her hands were wringing the reigns of her steed and stopped them. Marcarius wasn't the only one they'd lose in this war, she reminded herself.

Pendance looked up at her again before leaving. "Also, High General, you be doing us kindness to call us again if the commander is seen. We wish to put his spirit to proper rest."

She nodded absently, waving a gloved fist at him in parting as she turned away. "I'll give the word."

As she trotted back to the front lines, New Avalon seemed suddenly very empty and vulnerable. They hadn't been dependent on the commander, but... _No. All that matters is the Lich King now._

xx

AN: I will say one thing about this. I wrote the whole story seamlessly, without chapter divisions. Makes it infuriating trying to figure out what makes the best individual chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sytekh: thanks for that, really. This story has fifty active readers and now four reviews - rather pathetic numbers compared to my others, trust me (most of which are with my older, worse writing) - so any feedback is highly appreciated. On A Savage Land, it's a shame I never got around to posting that final chapter. I'm utterly stumped with the last _sentence_ of the story. I still consider it my best through, with Frank Herbert's Dune fresh in my mind and influencing my writing. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy Abbendis too._

xx

The tides of the battle changed in a sudden swoop, estimated two hours since Marcarius' death was reported. No longer did the Death Knights stand as champions among the endless hordes of undead; they mobilized as an army, crashing several scores of cavalry into the western most side of the Scarlet lines. The average footman, no matter how stalwart, was swept aside easily in only a few strokes of a runeblade.

Heated debate erupted among her advisers at what their response should be. The sides stood as one claiming the Lich King was desperate now, sending everything at once, and that they should counter with their all and crush him; the other cautioned them, considering the thrust only another test of the Death Knights and a simple maneuver meant to weaken them and draw out their strongest.

Abbendis had the final call. She felt strongly for the first side, knowing a necropolis could hold only so much Scourge and that very little of their fallen had been returned. Tyr's Hand's reinforcements finally arrived, completely fresh, ready to bolster their ranks by another two legions. More than ever, she felt certain in victory if they pushed now.

However, the voice of Marcarius spoke in her head, cautioning with his usual patience and confidence. Small comments, like, _"The Lich King himself leads this army; everything, you hotblooded fools, would be _everything." Only a few abominations had come and still no sign of a frostwyrm; that didn't sound like the Lich King getting desperate.

Unable to stand the bickering her advisers reduced to, she walked to cool her head. Time was precious, but their own heavy cavalry and paladins had been dispatched to contain the break in their lines. She had final call in their response, though.

As she walked, alone but not distant from her troops, she heard the laugh of a demented woman behind her and a choking sound. Whirling in place with her axe swinging out in an instant, she saw her reaction was too late. A Death Knight, some night elf woman barely visible with the shadow melding of her race, had her runeblade up and about descend into her back. Abbendis knew from observation that heavy plate armor did little to stop those cursed weapons.

However, the Death Knight was already restrained. Marcarius' demon harlot, Aelina she believed the name was, was there with a wide smile, choking the Scourge knight to death with her barbed whip. The succubus purred something into the struggling elf's ear and licked her cheek, then dropped the arm she was restraining and snapped the woman's neck. Abbendis saw the glowing blue eyes of the elf flicker out as she fell to the soil.

Calling holy fire, Abbendis burned the corpse away and frowned at the demon that had, essentially, prevented her assassination. "Why are you still here? Your master is dead."

The demon smirked mischievously as she coiled her whip, licking black blood from one barbed edge and her eyes glowing with infernal light and lust. "Child, my master will _always_ get the last laugh. Even now he is returning, here, and he is _pissed."_

"He survived?" Abbendis asked, then quickly chastised herself for the hint of hope in her voice. Evenly, she continued, "Or is he now among the undead?"

"Oh, he died," the demon confirmed, but still her voice betrayed knowing amusement. "But if his soul were not his own, I'd have no reason to serve him." She glanced north with a frown suddenly and turned to Abbendis with a displeased expression. "If I had not the orders to guard you, I would be out there helping him return. He is weak."

With sudden fire in her eyes, Abbendis grabbed the harlot by the wrist and began pulling her along. "You will show me where Marcarius is. If he stands among the undead, we will put him to rest, and if he lives..." Aelina hid a smile as she was dragged behind.

xx

Abbendis took only the paladin Sir Pendance with her. She had ordered the Crusade to bolster their defenses, giving rest to the men often with the many fresh troops, and to contain the damnable infestation of Scourge rats that tried picking them apart from the inside. Delay was what she wanted, at least until they returned.

"There!" the succubus shouted, pointing a pink-skinned arm over her shoulder to a black figure pressed against the rocks of the western mountain ridge. It was moving.

Abbendis and Pendance banked their gryphons downward and landed twenty spans before it. They dismounted while Aelina sprinted to the black figure, stooping to help support it with her slender shoulders. Pendance took a step forward, mace hanging slack in his fist. "By the Light... the commander."

Marcarius was a mess. His robes were soaked through with blood, torn to tatters, and what was visible of his skin showed lacerations and blood both dry and wet. Only one eye was open, glaring forward with a determination more animal than human. His skin was pale enough to be corpse. When Aelina got his weight on her, his trembling legs gave out entirely, though she barely sagged under his weight.

She had to be sure. Abbendis remained stone cold as she threw together her most powerful spell meant to turn away the undead. It would turn him to cinders in an instant, if that were the case, but would pass over the living harmlessly. Without a sound, she threw it at Marcarius, sending a rippling shockwave through his weak frame.

The warlock turned his one-eyed glare upon her. "Satisfied?"

"You look like hell," she commented lightly, but a smile suddenly spread her lips. Damn warlock.

Pendance ran over to the commander and knelt to heal him, calling down the Light in bright flashes. Marcarius coughed blood, then looked back at her with a bloody smile. "You should see the other guys."

Looking to the east, Abbendis noticed the the distant Scourge hadn't missed their brief show and presence. Already a band had broken off to shamble towards them, with at least one black armored knight. "Take him with you, Sir Pendance. We must go now."

The paladin gently lifted the wounded man and took him back to his gryphon. Aelina tried to follow, but there wasn't room for more than two. Forcing the temptress back on her own, Abbendis mounted and took to the skies before the Death Knight was close enough to use the ghastly grip spell. They flew back to New Avalon.

xx

"I'm afraid I will be out of this war for good," Marcarius apologized, resting lightly in their tented hospital with Abbendis. "I will still advise as I can, if you'll listen."

"We can manage without you," she answered confidently, though added, "but you've earned your voice in council."

Outside, night had fallen, though the waves of Scourge were unrelenting. The fires of Havenshire's razing blocked the stars and moon with thick clouds of dark smoke. The sun shone the world as a dark orange when it was still high.

The warlock smiled sardonically. "You may yet change my opinion of the Scarlet Crusade, High General. If there were more like you, I'd even come to support it."

"I could have your head for that," she told him without heat. She was used to his barbed speak about her men. "One day you'll tell me how you lived, but that will come later. What have you to report, commander?"

He sobered considerably, showing impressive resolve despite his obvious weakness. "Is the fleet ready to sail?"

"I was told another thirty-six hours before all the supplies were finished loading," she answered, recalling how two thirds of the fleet were moored in the bay with no place to port to be stocked. It was slow work moving the stocked ships away and reeling in the fresh ones, especially with so many. Boarding the troops after would be another headache, no matter how disciplined they moved.

"A day and a half," he mumbled, frowning. "I pray it is enough."

"What did you see?"

"Every hero that ever fell against the Scourge that wasn't recovered is stored inside that necropolis. There are thousands of Death Knights to come. Some of the strongest Scourge leaders are there, even those I thought dead, and Patchwerk is one of the guards inside, ready to be loosed against us at any time. The frostwyrms are slumbering inside, yea nearly a score of them and all matured. And... High General... Abbendis... one of those knights, a son of Morgaine, wields the corrupted Ashbringer, or its like."

"By the Light," she gasped, then tensed her jaw with an angry scowl. "We are the army of the Light. With our brothers of the Argent Dawn, we are all there is to stand against the Scourge and the Lich King. With the reinforcements from Light's Hope Chapel and Hearthglen we will stage the final battle to once and for all destroy the traitor king."

"Nay, the Alliance would stand with you, should time be more plentiful, and even the Horde is not so foolish as to ignore a call to arms against the Lich King. But no matter how many legions we command, numbers mean nothing against this foe. Fifteen thousand Scarlet and Argent soldiers is merely fifteen thousand Scourge ghouls. Five thousand knights, five thousand Death Knights."

Abbendis smashed her gauntlet into the wood table beside his bed. "I know how the Scourge works, damn you!" The frustration and stress were getting the better of her. She withdrew to cover her face with her plated hand. The whole fight could seem so hopeless. At the very pinnacle of their power, with every resource available, their victory was in doubt. Why were they even fighting?

She remembered then the day in Lordaeron, during the celebration of the prince's return. She had walked the streets with her brother and sister paladins, taking in the peace and good cheer. All at once, things seemed to change pace. Alarms rose up, the soldiers and police scattering around furiously, the civilians in a confused panic. News shouted of the king's assassination, the prince's betrayal, and then the cultists unleashed hell. The Scourge were let in through an open gate.

Like every other citizen that survived, she wanted vengeance. Lordaeron would be reclaimed, and the Lich King called to pay for his crime. Since the forming of the Scarlet Crusade by her father and the others, they had managed to reclaim Hearthglen, the Scarlet Monastery, Tyr's Hand and the rest of the Scarlet Enclave. Through the blood of a thousand crusaders, Light's Hope Chapel had been cleansed into holy land.

They would not falter, would not retreat, and they would not give up the land they fought so hard to recover. The Lich King himself would not triumph over them, not quench the fires of vengeance that burned in every man and woman's heart. Whenever the hopelessness built inside, she only needed to remember the day of Betrayal to regain her passion.

She shared her thoughts with Marcarius: "Our defense is solid. Apart from the break in our lines from their cavalry, we've lost very little of our side to undeath; the number of ghouls has thinned drastically. Soon, the Lich King must perform another counter-stroke to gain any advantage. If we push forward, we lose the ability to destroy corpses, and thus fall victim to the Scourge Phenomenon. I see only two options for us."

"The first is like Naxxramas, yes?" Marcarius guessed. "Small, concentrated forces of the best that can fight without losses. However, the Death Knights complicate the possibility, as best will always face best and we outnumbered. But alas, the second eludes me."

"Holy ground," Abbendis said with grim resolution. "Like the Scourge grows stronger upon blight, they weaken when treading holy land. The bones under Light Hope Chapel cannot even be touched by undeath. If we could lure the traitor to sacred ground, we could dispatch him with ease. It does not surprise me, though, that you are unaware; only those who live for this war know."

The warlock's eyes lit with interest, though he was unable to sit up from his place. "And where might we find such a staging point?"

With a frown, Abbendis threw her hand towards the outside. "New Avalon was once holy land, but as the blood of innocents stain our soil, its power dwindles. The Lich King knows this and has his rats butchering our civilians in their own homes. Tyr's Hand is virginal and weak as such. The best grounds would be the unfortified Light's Hope Chapel."

"What duality," Marcarius mentioned. "Spilled blood can cleanse and spilled blood can taint. Are not the lives of the men lost in the lines turning that into holy ground?"

"Their blood prevents the blight from spreading any further, true, but cremation does not bring the peace that proper burial does. Their bones and bodies will not become a part of this land."

His lips drew thin as he mulled the information over. "A complex matter, but not entirely unfamiliar. I wish, High General, that you had educated me of this earlier."

"I wish, warlock, you had proven yourself more than an arrogant fool earlier," she returned dryly. He inclined his head, his smile insolent.

Silence fell between them for a long moment, until Marcarius' vitality seemed to wane. He settled back into his bed, his weakness and sickness showing more obviously in the pallor of his skin and his face. Abbendis stood. "Rest well, Commander. Tomorrow we'll speak again."

He met her eyes calmly, nodding. She found it strange how different he appeared, stripped of his robes and mystique and shrouded in bandages. "Send me the scout reports of the enemy's movement and positions. I may not be able to accompany the raids, but I can help devise crucial objectives."

"I won't hold war council in the hospital, commander." Her dismissal was curt but not unkind, and she turned to leave.

His smooth voice, dampened only by his condition, floated up behind her. "Then tomorrow I will go to you."

Abbendis smiled on her way out. Stalwart, that one. Already he changed her opinion on adventurers, even warlocks. The demon harlot was staring at her near the exit, a sly smile on her lush lips. Abbendis passed by without reaction.

xx

"You can do it, can you not, High General?" Marcarius pressed, standing beside her and the other advisers.

No longer did the warlock wear his dark, crystalline robes, having retired from the fighting. He wore his simpler tunic and leggings, and over them was draped the pristine crimson and white tabard of a commanding officer. Abbendis took unspoken pleasure in seeing the man in their colors, as a Scarlet soldier.

The fear of a Death Knight assassin was small, allowing him to forgo his enchanted cloth armor, with the torturers having weeded them out nearly to the last man. Not to mention, he also had his harlot watching over him, hidden in her strange invisibility. The man showed no discomfort from his wounds, and she didn't concern herself with them either.

Everyone was speechless presently, looking at her with wide eyes and waiting on her next words. The plan Marcarius had drawn was a bold one, as was his usual, but not so impossible, granted she could conclude it. Taking a breath, she announced, "I can, and in the chance that I cannot, Tirion Fordring at Light's Hope has the power."

"By the Light, the Ashbringer's been corrupted," Sir Goldring groaned, then turned eyes of fire upon her. "High General, I offer myself to lead the assault."

The man was the strongest of her knights, the head of her private escort and blessed with great power in the Light. However, while the man could fight and lead, she already had one in mind. "No. Sir Pendance will lead the raid upon the Crypt of Remembrance. Sir Goldring, you will gather forty of our strongest knights and paladins, yourself included, to be a part of this. You know the importance of this mission; they must be the best we have."

The man saluted, preparing to depart, but then Marcarius spoke up in his slow drawl. "If I may, High General...?"

Her hand halted Goldring, and she stared at the man. "Speak."

He met her gaze. "The Lich King will surely guess our intent when we ride out. He will send his very best out to stop us and slaughter the raid, when what we face is already overbearing. I propose a second raid on the outside, to defend them from the encroaching threat. Knight Goldring would be my first choice for the head of that. Knights, after all, are best utilized as mounted cavalry, nay?"

Commander Jordan frowned, glancing at her. "Sending eighty of our best away will severely weaken the lines, High General. If we go that route, might we release some of our gryphons for aerial defense?"

"Twenty matured frost wyrms, Commander," another spoke up, grimly. "Would you chance losing some of our best defense against them?"

"We are in a hard position either way. We cannot keep up this war at the present state of things. Despite our many granaries, the civilians have grown restless since the north-side one was burned down. Quincy has been unsuccessful in alleviating their fears," a bishop reported. "As difficult as it is asking men to pack their things and leave their homes, it might be best to relieve pressure and allow an introductory evacuation to Light's Hope Chapel."

"If we start any evacuation, the civilians will immediately take that as us believing defeat is certain!" the High Priest shouted, outraged. "We will face a full riot!"

As they bickered, Abbendis noticed Marcarius hadn't once taken his attention and stare from her. Domestic issues were a valid concern presently, but unrelated to their mission. She cut their argument short. "Enough! Sir Penance will lead the finest paladins we have between us and Tyr's Hand's army, and Sir Goldring will lead his contingent of knights in a second raid for defense. Our mission is the retrieval of the Ashbringer from Mograine's Death Knight son.

"Commander Jordan, you will increase the number of active crusaders in the lines by a hundred and ready all of our ballista; we will shatter the siege in the same moment and ready our defenses for the Lich King's counter. Admiral, you will continue readying the fleet in all haste. Until the moment where the cleansed Ashbringer is in my hand, we will plan and proceed to take our army to the wastes of Northrend and shatter the walls of Icecrown at _our_ prompting."

Everyone saluted, even the smirking Marcarius. The High Priest hesitated in the following moment. "General Abbendis... which did the Light tell you is the Crimson Dawn? The reclaiming of the Ashbringer or the crusade to Northrend?" All eyes immediately set upon her, including the suddenly flat pair belonging to the warlock.

She made no mention of the Nathrezim. "The Light will reveal it to you in the next twenty-four hours, High Priest. Now _move!"_ Fists banged chests again.

xx


	4. Chapter 4

xx

"Where are they?" Abbendis growled, sweeping the spyglass from end to end of Havenshire. The paladins had descended the crypt half an hour ago, and Goldring's knights encountered no more than the usual reinforcing Scourge. The Lich King had yet to show his hand, and while one might hope they would retrieve the weapon smoothly, Abbendis was not that kind of fool.

Angrily, she closed the the spyglass and turned away from the gleaming lines of knights. Jordan bowed his head to her as she left him upon the ramparts, all of the Crusade quiet now. No more Scourge touched the front lines, leaving them men anxiously waiting. The ballista were positioned to hit the Scourge encampments in Havenshire, and they waited on her signal.

On the ground again, Abbendis swung into her steed's saddle, feeling the sturdy beast easily handle her weight. She grasped the reigns and prepared to perform her rounds of checking their defenses and actions but noticed the approach of a messenger in great haste. She hailed him and trotted closer, slowing when she noticed him shouting his news – urgent then.

"The High Abbot is dead! They are inside! The Death Knights are inside!" the messenger cried, stumbling to a stop and leaning against her horse's side for breath. Stone faced, Abbendis looked towards the barracks, seeing people running around in confusion. The messenger sucked in air and reported quickly, "They wear our armor and tabards, milady. They slew High Abbot Landgren and freed the prisoner and now wreck havoc among us."

"Can you still run, boy?" she asked calmly. The whip of a man met her eyes and froze for a moment, then nodded quickly. "Then make haste to the Tyr's Hand encampment and tell General Terandis to sweep New Avalon and purge the infestation. Be quick." The young man nodded again and sprinted away.

The High General couldn't show fear. Once the messenger was gone, Abbendis' hands tightened their hold over her horse's reigns until the metal gauntlets creaked dangerously. The Lich King's counter wasn't a ground assault like Marcarius suspected. It was inside the city! The prisoner commander was freed, they were without their most powerful soldiers, and she was now without her honor guard. They were vulnerable. She was vulnerable.

A divine shield erupted around her just as the trap was sprung. The large pink fist of the Death Knight's grip ability grabbed her holy shell and ripped her from her steed to a position several dozen yards away, she grabbed her axe to slay the black knight, but then another hand grabbed her and pulled her further away from the walls, and then a third and a forth. No longer could she hope for reinforcement from Jordan and the lines, she found, as she ended finally several hundred yards away from her horse and now alone in the hilly area east of New Avalon.

Runed blades struck against her impenetrable holy barrier. Abbendis didn't count how many were there waiting for her, nor look for how many more were coming to kill her. She saw the glowing blue orbs in the eye sockets of the Scarlet Crusade helmets and swung her axe, holy light blazing up around her in a fiery aura.

In the final few seconds of the divine shield, Abbendis shouldered through the first of the Death Knights and spun to face them, leaving her back clear for the slow retreat back to New Avalon and no longer surrounded. The first of the Scourge went up in sudden flames, burned to ash before he could even fall, while the second had his sword shattered and skull cleaved in two by her swing. The rest found that her shield had disappeared.

Waves of Light and fire trailed Abbendis' axe as she swung, consuming the enemy if her weapon didn't. Many times their blades bit her armor, some catching flesh, and the same light would swirl around the new wound and leave her unharmed. The first sign of weakness was when she parried three swings at once, catching the last inches from her neck with the butt of her axe, and the combined strength momentarily overcame hers and forced her down to a knee.

Immediately, another knight stepped to around his comrades and swung towards her unprotected side. Abbendis braced herself and called for the Light, trying to stop the attack from killing her. Just as the blade descended, however, a thick, scarred staff parried the runeblade, just before someone slammed into the Death Knight and sent him stumbling back. On the other side, a whip caught the throat of another and yanked him from his feet, the sudden jerk causing him to drop his Scourge weapon.

Abbendis shrugged off the three blades from her axe and stepped back, regaining her footing. She saw Marcarius there, still in his civilian garb, with a grim expression on his face. Aelina stood at her right, lovely and wanton with her barbed whip. Though grateful for the assistance, she knew the commander to still be wounded.

"You were wrong, you bloody warlock," she spat as the Death Knights moved to encircle them, standing back to assess the new threat.

There was no sarcasm from him. "So I discovered. When I realized the intent to kill you without your guard, I came immediately." He thrust his staff up into the air and slammed its heel into the hard ground, causing a tremor to pass under their feet. Standing boldly, he shouted, "Now go! Return to New Avalon. I will hold off your escape."

One Death Knight laughed, twirling his blade like it was a serpent. "And what can you do against us, worm? You don't even have your enchanted armor!"

Shadows engulfed his chest in a sudden blast from Marcarius' staff, and the man stumbled back with a cry as his armor dissolved, followed by his flesh. The warlock grunted. As if a cue for them, the remaining dozen Death Knights clamored forward, calling for Abbendis' death. She watched the warlock cast a strange net of green and purple that froze the mass for a second, and she dropped to a knee, muttering a blessing of the Light to protect Marcarius.

Blue light spiraled over him as the blessing was set, but he didn't look back at her. The Death Knights broke through the net. Abbendis turned to flee, looking back to ensure Marcarius could handle himself.

Without the enchantments, the warlock's spells should have been weak and his mana pool very limited. Instead, he recklessly blasted bolts of shadow and summoned great flames, seemingly ignorant of any limitations, and when the Scourge reached him, he boldly engaged them with his worn staff. The wood stopped the blades like it was steel.

Marcarius shouted a spell in the demonic language of warlocks, and a curse settled over the Death Knights that was meant to weaken them. Immediately their movements grew sluggish, like a warrior after much fighting, and their speed slowed greatly. It evened the field spectacularly. In the meanwhile, the vicious succubus harried and bled the mob with quick strikes, yanking away anyone that seemed too steady.

Spellcasting went two ways, however. Abbendis saw the hand coming but couldn't dodge, and she was caught around the middle by the pink grip, tugged from her feet. Hands of the dead ripped free of the ground and tried grabbing Marcarius' ankles, but he jumped free and still managed to catch the airborne Abbendis by the waist, sliding back several feet from the force.

With a deep shout, Marcarius threw her back towards the city, spinning with his staff and knocking the head of the closest Death Knight. The helmet deflected it, and the knight thrust his fist forward. A smaller form of the grip caught the warlock by the throat, choking him and preventing any verbal casting.

Abbendis found her return routed by three more Death Knights, advancing towards her. One was still immolated by Marcarius' fire, but it was only the cloth, not touching him under the armor. She stepped back, feeling her back press against the solid one of Marcarius. She briefly wondered how he was still standing, wounded as he was, as well as how he was still casting spells. Surely he wasn't _that_ naturally talented.

As one, they threw themselves against their foes, her axe cleaving towards the one to her left and Marcarius thrusting his staff towards the bulk, unleashing another blast of shadow when the choking hand spell dissipated. Abbendis found one blade in her shoulder as the woman she cleaved went up in flames. Upon healing the wound, stepping back to disengage, the burning knight went up in a violent conflagration, screaming. At the same moment, a whip caught the third around the middle and tossed him from his feet.

Abbendis ran, knowing the work of Marcarius. In the battle, the warlock found himself kicked back after a parry, and he tumbled through the dirt, coming up on a knee defiantly between them and her. The Death Knights hissed with frustration, advancing again, only to find themselves beat back by wildly strikes of Aelina's whip. Before Abbendis could get too far, a knight rose a hand purposely, but a combined attack from the two interrupted him and sent him reeling back.

Breaking free now and back into the city, Abbendis found heavy fighting taking place at the orchids, with billowing flames consuming their fields and shapes moving around them. Ignoring that, she quickly moved up the walls to find Commander Jordan, ordering reinforcements to return for Marcarius. She rejoined her own steed and rode back quickly, hearing others fall in behind her.

At the site of the battle, one man against a dozen, Abbendis found the warlock in full retreat, stepping back quickly to prevent getting surrounded. She could tell her blessing had helped fortify his ability, but it wasn't enough to overcome the black knights. His fire and shadow spells were somehow still as powerful as ever, though coming now at a slower rate, but their use was now only to keep the knights at bay. The anti-magic shell ability the Crusade found more commonly among banshees was now being used by the knights against Marcarius.

Their charge was noticed. Rather than try to flee the mounted cavalry, the Death Knights pulled several from their horses with their grip spells, heaving their heavy blades into the scarlet armor. Abbendis and the rest shouted battle cries, weapons drawn. In the final moment before they hit, she saw from the corner of her eye Marcarius miss his final parry, taking a barbed axe into his unprotected chest.

Even so, she did not falter. Abbendis retaliated with her own axe, knocking the man from his feet and caving in his armor. He hit the ground with a strangled choke, his heart getting crushed by his own armor. The others trampled and cut down the other knights while Abbendis wheeled around for the commander that had saved her.

She found Marcarius not a bleeding corpse, but standing again with the help of his demon. Blood ran over his form, yet not nearly enough for any wound to be fatal. His shirt and tabard bore a wide hole in the front, without a wound beneath. That axe blow hadn't pierced him, somehow. She approached him slowly. Upon catching sight of her, Marcarius stiffened his stance and saluted.

"You are proving remarkably hard to kill, Commander," she told him after returning the salute. "How did you manage that without your enchanted armor?" Noticing the discolor of skin from a Death Knight disease, she cleansed him and ran a brief flash of Light to heal his wounds.

The man's look was smug as he ripped off the tattered shirt and tabard, and Abbendis saw a bundle fall from his chest, having been tucked behind the clothes. He showed his wrist, where an oddly shaped length of cloth was hastily tied. The color scheme told her of its identity, and she barked a disbelieving laugh.

"I ask, who says I was without my gear?" Marcarius said, tucking the bundle under an arm. The sneaky rat had scurried his enchantments under his clothes, rather than take the time to wear them properly – he still gained the benefits, while likely it was the robes under his shirt that protected him from the axe blow.

He took one of the unmanned horses and climbed atop, Aelina at his side like a bloodhound. Abbendis called for the men around her to gather again, preparing to return to New Avalon. Before she could give the shout, their alarm sounded. The bells atop the walls struck wildly, warning them that something was coming, something that worried Commander Jordan. Abbendis struck her reigns, her steed leaping forward.

xx

Frostwyrms.

Goldring and Pendance returned from their raids empty handed. The rumor of Mograine and the Ashbringer being inside the crypt was just a ruse – though they had found, and brought to justice, the old traitor Baron Rivendare. Nothing but time was lost for it, and once back, the numbers heavily bolstered their ranks again against the coming terror. The gryphons were saddled and armored quickly, their riders receiving an encouraging speech from the wing commander.

Abbendis truly was glad for Marcarius' precaution then, seeing the dread beasts hovering menacingly over the Scourge position, with only a couple small dots marking the bone gryphons. They had their full reserve then. Word had also reached her of a modest reinforcement of several hundred paladins and knights from Light's Hope Chapel – the leadership there knew it was quality, not quantity.

Between New Avalon and Tyr's Hand's gryphons, five scores of warbirds were ready to face the frostwyrms. Abbendis had outlined a defensive strategy for them, hoping to utilize the ballista and archers in synergy with their gryphons. In the time it would take to bring the wyrms down, however, their ranks could be devastated. Scouts had picked up the massing of Scourge ground units. The ghoul hordes had been diminished, but now the ones not burned had been put together again in the abomination horrors.

The only positive news was that the ships were in the final throes of loading supplies. Abbendis gave the word for the chosen, elite soldiers to start boarding the current ships. The Argent Dawn emissary had been brought up to speed already and pledged his men to escort their civilians from the Scarlet Enclave back to Light's Hope, and he gladly accepted the soldiers she was leaving behind to defend the last haven of Light.

While she was at the harbor, a courier from Hearthglen had reached her. His message read:

_High General,_

_The armies of Hearthglen and Tirisfal are less than a day's ride from New Avalon. We ride with the Light shining upon our backs and the wind at our heels. Soon the Scourge will have to content with the full might of the Scarlet Crusade!_

_Light Bless You,_

_-High Commander Galvar Pureblood_

The courier had been a disguised Scourge Death Knight, amazing considering she was surrounded by her very strongest yet none noticed him. Again, it had been Marcarius – the exhausted and weak warlock barely upright in a saddle – that noticed the blue eyes of the man and suggested she try her Turn Undead spell. The spy was quickly burned to dust, and her response was given to a gryphon rider to redirect the approaching armies to Light's Hope Chapel with the rest.

The Lich King would see them in Northrend.

xx

All of New Avalon shook with the cry of ten thousand voices when the final frostwyrm plummeted from the sky and crashed into the abandoned inn, crushing the building. Half of their gryphon riders remained. The great wall was aflame, all the ballista upon it incinerated and the men who manned them slain nearly to the last man. Men rushed to fill the burning gaps in their lines, pitched desperately against both the Death Knight army, abominations, cultists, and spitting crypt fiends. More than a thousand Scarlet soldiers had already been slain, and it showed in the return of slavering ghouls.

Two hours of fighting later, and there were still civilians trying to evacuate. Barely three scores of crusaders and two-hundred footmen escorted them, as every available man was used in the fight or waiting to cycle in for the exhausted ones still alive. At Abbendis' command, their mages set upon dispelling the flames from the walls, and the legion of archers quickly ran up to man it.

It was their victory here. The Argent Dawn and Scarlet Crusade stood together as one against the Scourge, and not even the best the Lich King could send managed to overtake them. The airborne plague from Heigan the Unclean weakened the western side of the frontlines, where the wind blew, for a short while, until their gryphon riders swooped in and demolished the cauldrons and beat back the familiar cultist.

From the hospital, where he had been forced to return after his new battle, Marcarius outlined a quick, devious plan for their paladins. A cohort of mounted cavalry managed to storm through and trample the Scourge horde, using the Divine Shield to protect them from the loathsome Death Knights. The old training exercise of cycling points was used to keep the shields at the forefront of the charge. It was appropriately devastating, even if many of those trampled still got back up.

When the Scourge was commanded to pull back and regroup, the civilians had already cleared out and the time had come to have the soldiers on the lines begin boarding the ships. In the war council, it was proposed again that they use their strength to crush the Lich King once and for all. Their gryphons could disable or bring down the necropolis, and the Lich King would be trapped with no place to run. Not even Marcarius argued the possibility, though he was hesitant.

Before they reached a conclusion, carrier pigeons flowed in from their distant scouts. While Acherus could produce only so much filth, they were still in the Plaguelands. The Lich King had called reinforcements from elsewhere, and the death lord himself raised great monstrosities that they had never seen before. Flesh titans, the scouts called them, the weakest with the strength and size of ten abominations. Gargoyles, one scout reported, were numerous enough to block the whole sky when they flew. Only the luck of the Light could save them from the Lich King when the hordes finished gathering and he gave the order.

Worst still was the vision of the "Light" that came upon her shortly after the news. It showed her the utter destruction of her city and people, with its message for her to abandon them and come straight away. Apparently, Bishop Street received the same vision, meaning the Nathrezim had begun targeting others. He would need to be told the truth.

Fortunately, they wouldn't be there when the Scourge came. Abbendis rode abreast with the weak Marcarius along the dock to the final ship, her flag called the Sinner's Folly. They were the last to board, with this ship the grandest of all and most powerful of the warships. Captain Shely himself commanded this one.

It had been a strange march through New Avalon. The streets were empty, the whole city quiet. Wind carried dust and ash in its wake, from fires still burning places after the evacuation. The once holy land around her cried its agony at the spilled blood of innocents and the encroaching blight. Her escort had surrounded her, but only Marcarius took the position as a companion, riding with her.

At the blasts of the throaty Scourge war horn, Abbendis gave the command to Sir Goldring to take his best knights and march to Light's Hope Chapel. He was to report to Tirion Fordring and position himself under the aged paladin's direct command. The knight immediately argued, bringing up that Northrend was where he would be needed as her guard the most.

"It is far more dangerous, yes. But tell me, which matters more: the life of the High General or the thousands of lives of both civilian and soldier awaiting the axe blow at Light's Hope? You are a faithful friend and strong soldier. If you can make any difference, I want it to be there," was her solid yet gentle reprimand.

Grasping his reigns, Goldring gave her a meaningful look. "Who, then, will replace me, milady?"

Abbendis already had whom in mind. Before the small assembly, she announced, "Commander Marcarius, you are hereby relieved as your position of commander, stripped of both title and all its privileges."

The warlock barely glanced at her, a small smile on his lips. "Bummer."

Goldring's eyes were wide then, understanding, as she continued, "It seems, Marcarius, that you are in need of a position among us and I in need of a head of my guard. Perhaps we might find a mutual solution to our problems, in time."

In a flash, the gleaming longsword of Goldring was out and its tip pressed into Marcarius' throat. His horse danced under his skilled control, responding to its master's tension. "You'll protect her, warlock. You'll swear the oaths and live and die for her, and if you shirk in any of your duties, I will come for you. I will flay the skin from your back and use it as your _gag_ for when I crucify you and flog you to death. I will use the Light to keep you alive for weeks before I am through. Am I understood?"

Marcarius, the exhausted warlock, brought up his hand and pushed the blade away with a finger. His eyes were cold though his expression dispassionate. "Quite so, yea never clearer. But the only oaths from me will be pulled through dead, cold lips, sir knight. If it isn't clear my desire to keep the High General safe already, then I recommend you check yourself to a healer for certain madness."

"He'll do perfectly," Abbendis cut in, amused, seeing Goldring's face turning red in his rage. She looked north, towards the advancing Scourge army. "Now go, Sir Goldring. You must reach Light's Hope before the Scourge do. Return Tirion's attention to the Ashbringer."

Finally, after the parting, Abbendis and half her guard reached the docks to the admiral's waiting ship. The loud scuffs of their horse's hooves and slapping waves were the only sounds. The men standing post all saluted her passing. She went up the ramp before Marcarius. Once everyone was aboard, the ramp was brought in, and the admiral shouted at the men to depart.

As her nervous horse was taken to the stables below deck, the high ranking officials that made up her 'council' rushed to Abbendis, bombarding her with comments, news, concerns, and questions about which hand to wipe with. She withheld her sigh and ignored the peaking stress, giving them her attention and words. Marcarius slunk away, as was his way.

xx

AN: Alright I want to talk about the changes wrought by Marcarius. Originally, he was to only have a part with the demon, and so they'd be sailing out in chapter two from the Wrath-obliterated Scarlet Enclave. Instead, I decided to let him do the Blizzard-logic Adventurer thing (army can't defeat enemy for six months; all it takes it 5 quests from one man involving killing six enemies, a pipebomb, and the enemy leader's head for the army to win). However, I did this within _reason_. He took the best to the Scourge Roosts with him, he didn't just man one cannon to kill all the frostwyrms, he can be defeated and taken out of commission, and best of all he can be wrong. Without the Ashbringer, there was no hope for anyone in the Plaguelands when the Lich King came, so from the start it's obvious that they couldn't win out.

Now, I could have let them get the Ashbringer from Darion, let Abbendis cleanse it and wield it, and really make a whole new Wrath Expansion with Marcarius at her side. That wasn't the point of this story though. I just wanted a story that gave Abbendis the spotlight she deserved. Like Rennah, it's meant to be short and sweet, but this time a full story. Chapters are typical book length (3-5k words each), and the whole story itself is 41k words.

*If you don't know the difference so far between this story and the game yet though, know that rather than everyone in the Scarlet Enclave dead (Tyr's Hand has a pop of 9k alone, so that's a lot of dead), most of them made it to Light's Hope as refugees or soldiers. And rather than leave with a few hundred soldiers to Northrend, Abbendis now has a few thousand (and is capable of actually being a potent force in Northrend). Scarlet and Argent ties have also begun to reform.


	5. Chapter 5

_plums: "subtle hints at a romantic interest" How on earth did you even pick those up? It was subtle even from the author's view point. Anyways, that'll be answered here, and the rest throughout the story. The warlocks raiment though, haha, I guess the closest I ever get to answering that is the top of the second chapter. I never had an armor set in mind for him, just generic Outland stereotypes, but Fel Conquerer Raiments (robes) is the right color scheme that I had in mind._

xx

It was many hours later, after nightfall, that Abbendis was freed from the insistent fools that followed her and allowed to enter her lavish cabin. She had Marcarius meet her there, and after passing word that he was the new head of her guard, they were left alone from the sentries. His harlot was elsewhere, he affirmed.

Sitting on the edge of her stiff bed, Abbendis began the long process of removing her armor starting with her gauntlets. She glanced at him and asked, "How old are you, Marcarius?"

His stare was mild. "Eight-and-twenty years."

"Twenty-eight," she echoed, stomping out of her boots then throwing her tabard over her head. "I turn thirty-three this year. Thirty-three years, and not once in my life have I been married or taken a lover or had even a tryst. I've never been interested in it before, always wrapped in my obligations to the Scarlet Crusade, to Lordaeron and the Plaguelands – even to the Scourge."

She paused when she finished undoing the buckles of her breastplate, looking at him. "What about you? You take that demon of yours to bed?"

Marcarius smiled slightly, leaning now against a wooden beam. "Aelina is a fun girl, but despite her wishes, I have not. It has never seemed right."

"At home then, before you left it? Elsewhere in your travels?" Her armor came off, leaving her in the thin linen underarmor that clung rather tight to her chest after the sweat of the day.

He stared at her for a second, then shrugged. "A warlock's path is a lonely one." It seemed a line he had used before.

"Two of a kind then," she acknowledged, and both leg plates were unbuckled and discarded. She was left finally in her thick riding pants and underarmor, the most vulnerable she had let anyone see her in years. "Everything has gone to hell in the last week, warlock. All the work we did to cleanse the land of the Scarlet Enclave is undone, my people ripped from their homes to cower behind those at Light's Hope. We failed in killing the Lich King.

"Really though, without you, it would have been so much worse. You saved many lives – you have saved my own life – and I want to thank you."

His hands went behind his back, standing a little more formally. "Truly, High General, thanks are not necessary. Despite the stigma of my class, my very reason for leaving the shelter of Stormwind is to bring aid where I can, yea as with trumping the Burning Legion as I go."

Abbendis nodded acknowledgment, and silence fell between them. Eventually, he smirked slightly and gestured at her, "I'll admit, I have never seen you without your armor. You seem quite different."

"Yes, I actually am a woman underneath all the steel," she remarked, then gestured at his own simple garb. "Look at us. Marcarius, the great commander that saved so much of the Crusade, and the High General. Just two plain folk under it all. You have your enchantments hiding under there again?"

Marcarius smiled again, looking down at his tunic. "Nay. If it came to a fight again, trying to spellcast with them would tear this body to pieces in its present state. I'm dead either way." Abbendis was familiar with which he spoke. Not just any footman could pick up and wield the Ashbringer, after all. The sheer power of the weapon could slay the holder if he was not strong enough.

For another, longer moment, there was only the rocking of the ship as they were left to their thoughts. It lasted until Abbendis finally asked the question that had been itching her since the warlock first proved his worth against the Scourge. "After we slay the Nathrezim, you will leave?"

Marcarius remained quiet for a considerable moment, until he muttered, "I shall, as I promised prior, yea at our first encounter."

Abbendis hesitated, thoughts conflicting, then pushed through: "And if I asked you to stay?"

His eyes set upon her, weighing and measuring in that very specific way of his, and Abbendis resisted the urge to show her unease. She knew he had perceived the intent behind her request; she hadn't been trying for subtlety. Funny enough, she wished she still had her armor on, to not feel so vulnerable under that critical stare.

Finally, Marcarius sighed, bowing his head. "It is a dangerous thing you ask... Brigitte." There was a strange tingle at hearing her first name, after so long of her title and 'Abbendis.' It was appropriate for the moment, she realized. "We have obligations to different battles. Mine to the Legion and yours to the Scourge. For now, they overlap, but soon they will not and staying would mean abandoning that cause."

"You need not patronize me on duty. I know it well," she said softly. She could not ask him to stop anymore than he could ask such of her. "It could be put on hold, though. Long enough for us to overthrow the traitor king, then you could return to your fight."

A sly twinkle touched his eyes at her persistence, and Marcarius bowed his head again in acquiesce. He gestured to the bucket of ice tacked to a shelf, housing a wine bottle, and her square table. "It has been a long day. If we will talk, let it be with some drink in us. All the better for excuses in the morning."

Brigitte stood with a tired smile, knowing that wasn't too far off the mark. She retrieved the bottle and sat with him at the table, pouring them goblets. After his first drink, Marcarius responded to her suggestion, "Tell me, after the Lich King is dead, what will you do? You, the Crusade, everything?"

She spoke staring into the filled cup of crimson: "The Plaguelands and Lordaeron will need to be reclaimed. Without the Lich King, it will be a task made easier. Its a task I've left to General Terandis, though. After that, the Crusade will likely disband, our men and women returning to simpler lives in the homes they earned. That is what I fight in hopes of seeing; it just seems right."

After drinking in a long pull, she leaned back in her chair and shrugged. "As for me, if I'm still alive for that, I'm stepping down for the same. A quiet, secluded farm is all I want. Something peaceful, where I can have kids and raise them without fear."

Marcarius nodded. "And that is our difference. Your fight has an end. Kill the man Arthas. The Burning Legion is numerous beyond counting. Their master cannot be slain by a mortal. My work is not defeating them. It is stopping them from reaching their goal: the destruction of our world, done little by little by their many hands. My duty is such that it will never end, until I am dead, turned to their side, or too ailed to continue fighting."

Neither said anything after his words, draining their cups and refilling them. Brigitte could feel the beginning warm buzz brewing inside her. Her mind flashed memory of the city they had left earlier that day – New Avalon burning, empty, and splashed with the blood of the slain. Quickly, she drank again and refilled her goblet with a shaking hand.

To distract herself, she said, "You've changed my opinion on warlocks, you know. Your kind always seemed the type ambitious for power, using the darkest methods available to achieve it. Anyone allied with demons simply cannot be trusted, and facing so many of them working for the Scourge left a dark stain over the whole name 'warlock.'"

Marcarius smiled slightly. "That isn't so far off, truthfully. Arcane both fel and shadow is seductive. The weaker minds cannot control their call, hence why the practice is so prevalent among the Cult of the Damned. It is a dangerous line every warlock dances beside in their path, and even warlocks centuries old can step over it as easily as a novice in their first week."

Brigitte nodded understand, drinking still, and he added, "I will admit the same for you. My experience with the Crusade has always gone one way. You, however, Brigitte Abbendis, are a leader I highly respect. You thirst for revenge the same as the rest, but your mind is not yet poisoned by it. So long as you lead, I will gladly come to the aid of the Scarlet Crusade. That isn't even to say my honor in sitting across from one of the few that assisted in the forging of the Ashbringer."

"How do you know about that, anyways?" she asked. "Very few know of the weapon's history, and fewer know my involvement. You seem privy to far more than you should."

"I am afraid I am oath-bound not to tell you, one of the few I've freely given. I will say though you don't seem to have aged much since those days as a one-and-twenty year old, fresh-faced lass in that tavern at Southshore." He winked as her jaw slacked.

"You were there!" she shouted, then settled down with surprise still on her face. "By the Light... How old must you have been? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

His sly look didn't retreat. "I'll leave one last hint for you to chew over. I never left Stormwind until I was eighteen, yea just raised as a fresh-faced warlock myself. That is all I may say of it."

Brigitte frowned into her goblet and took another drink. He finished off the bottle for his own cup. "There but not there, then. Alright, you damn warlock, I'll figure it out later. How'd you know about the Ashbringer's corruption then, or are you "oath-bound" on that too?"

He laughed softly. "No, no. That one is much simpler. I knew men from the guild that performed the successful raid on Naxxramas. They apparently found it in there, wielded by the Death Knight Alexandros Mograine himself. His son Darion, who has it now, took it, and so they all went to the Scarlet Monastery for the final brother of that family. The fault for its corruption was found to lay at Renault's feet, and the spirit of Alexandros slew him for it."

"Renault Mograine?" Brigitte asked, brows furrowing. "Whitemane's boy? What in the Light could he have done to corrupt the Ashbringer?"

"Apparently, he betrayed his own father and slew him. Such a betrayal was strong enough," he said, and her fist beat the table for two thumps, nodding her understanding. "Alas, as we saw at New Avalon, Darion did not long withstand the blade's corruption nor purge it. I pray Tirion succeeds where we did not."

Brigitte nodded, drinking again at the reminder of all the lives hanging in the balance. She stood to find more wine but called back to him, "Tirion is master of Light's Hope. Even the Lich King will meet his match there on that holy land. If the Ashbringer finds its way there, he will cleanse it easily."

At the table again, they started their second bottle. "Two months until we arrive at Northrend," she sighed. "Most of our ships are single sail freighters and can't travel as fast as the Folly. I'm not looking forward to this."

"Do you get sea sick?" he asked mildly. While she had searched for the wine, he had found a loaf of bread and wedge of cheese for them to share.

Brigitte cringed, with the slightest of nods. "I am pretending that feeling settling in my gut is a result of the wine."

He laughed softly, but not mockingly. "I will help you then. Believe me when I say staying in the cabin is the worst thing for it."

She smiled at him, the warmth of alcohol strong in her now. He was a rather handsome man in the crimson and white tabard. "You are rather well-traveled, aren't you?"

"Very."

"Do you ever wish you could settle down?" She dipped her bread in her wine and was glad to see she could still taste it.

Marcarius stared at his cup silently. He didn't speak until after he drank. "Often, yes."

Brigitte looked at him, determined. "Then why don't you? Why must you devote your entire self to fighting the Legion for all time?"

He paused again, then shrugged. "Because I have the ability to make a difference. If I hadn't been visiting Light's Hope Chapel, you would never have known about the Nathrezim, aye?"

"That's true," she sighed. "Speaking of Dreadlords, I remember you saying you were at Stratholme. Are the rumors about that true?"

The warlock did not readily answer. He finished his cup and encouraged her to do the same. Even then he remained silent, picking at the bread and cheese, and poured them new goblets. Finally, he looked at her, and in his gaze she could see some terrible truth cooped inside. She knew her answer before he even spoke.

"Saidan Dathrohan had died long before the founding of the Scarlet Crusade. The man you knew was the Nathrezim Balnazzar in possession of his corpse." Brigitte rocked back, forcing herself to accept the truth and not label him a liar. Her fist beat the table again. "When my companions and I entered the city, the Scarlet Crusade offered sword points to us, not the hands of allies. We fought through to the Grand Crusader, and the truth of him was revealed in that terrible battle."

Her head sank into her hand and rested against the table. A sudden sickness reached her down to the stomach, and clumsily she jerked upright and found the ice bucket, vomiting inside. Marcarius helped her clean her mouth with a skin of water and a napkin. After, she laughed sardonically to herself and said:

"The High General cannot lose her stomach to something like that. It was the wine or the sickness of the sea."

Marcarius simply nodded, making no comment. She was appreciative for it. When she was back in her chair, she took her goblet and drained it again, finishing off her bread and cheese despite herself. The warlock slowly slid himself back across from her, compassion in his gaze.

When she felt steady enough to speak, she waved her hand at him and said, "You truly must despise the Crusade, knowing what you do."

"Isillien and your father were, sorry to say, mad fools in their thirst for the eradication of the undead. I was pleasantly surprised to see you not following his overzealous footsteps. Because of Balnazzar, the madness only spread, and it was he, I believe, that convinced Renault to slay the Ashbringer. With Taelan Fordring's murder, I had thought there nothing "good" left in the Crusade, until I met you, Brigitte. You are the last living founder of the Crusade, and so long as you lead, I am willing to follow."

Brigitte found it hard to comment on his trust in her, so she bowed her head and said, "It seems the Crusade is steeped in the purpose and will of the Dreadlords. Here we are, the most powerful of the Crusade, sailing at the beck and call of another, where with the false Light as my guidance, I would have pledged all my forces to him."

She was surprised, then, to see him take her hand in his. They were warm, with no calluses unlike her own, and he squeezed softly. "You need not fret, for you are still alive and head the Crusade, and I am here to finally break you free of the chains of the Nathrezim. And keep your chin up, High General, for you are not the type to meekly bow her head, no matter who the Nath pretends to be. I trust you would do what you found right, yea even if it meant you growing skeptical when the "Light" commands you to do wrong."

She squeezed his hand in acknowledgment, nodding. "Thank you." With a sterner gaze, she added, "And I trust you will not betray my moment of alcohol-related weakness to anyone else? By the morning, I expect all of this night will be forgotten."

He smiled – rather charmingly – at her. "Of course."

"Good," she said, then slowly stood from her chair. "Now, that's not the only thing I expect to be forgotten this night." With her strong arm, she pulled him up and caught him in her arms. He had the same smile on his face up to when she kissed him. She felt smug in wiping it off of him.

When she pulled back, she smiled at his surprised expression, pleased to unsettle the man. Her whole body felt warm from the wine, and she told herself that was the only reason she would be so bold. Marcarius eventually found his nerve and asked, "Is this what you want? A tryst?"

She was glad that they were of near equal height, standing like this. With one hand, she pushed him back, towards the door rather than bed. "Don't you dare think, warlock, that you will just slip in my bed and sneak out after. We will do it by the Light. Marry me tonight and take me to bed. We can forget the burden of duty, of honor, and find peace, if with just each other."

The feel of his hands coming to her back, a warm and gentle hold without her armor on, caused her to shiver. His look though was rather meaningful. "Marriage? Brigitte, remember what I said? When your fight is done and you settle down peacefully, I must go on. Some husband that will be."

"And that wayward husband will have a home to rest at or I can go with you. I don't care right now. Just help me forget, and we can worry about it later."

It was clear he was past sobriety as well, thoughts coming slow and witless, as he failed at shooting her down. Eventually, his head bow acquiesce and he asked, "You are in earnest for this? Marriage is... permanent, for such spontaneity. Shouldn't we wait, till morning yea, without the impulsiveness of alcohol?"

Brigitte smiled wryly at their match – her passion and his reason. The expression soon fell though. "I don't care that a week ago I could barely stand your presence. New Avalon burns. It's inhabitants sail to the doom of Northrend or cower behind Argent Dawn walls. One thing all my time fighting the Scourge has taught me is the spontaneity of life. Today, we can be lovers; tomorrow, opponents on the battlefield with me a Death Knight. Just once, for right now, I want to set my duty aside on this damned heaving ship and find some enjoyment before it's too late. And there is no one else I'd prefer at the moment."

Marcarius ended up smiling at her words, nodding. On his own incentive, he leaned in to kiss her, and the touch sent a pleasant shock through Brigitte. She melted into the kiss, feeling weightless for the duration. Her hands clung to him just to stay upright when they finally separated. Brigitte felt more girlish than ever before, her cheeks burning with blush and smile.

"Who then shall marry us, my dear?" he asked. It may have been the alcohol in her, but he sounded smoother and more charming than ever.

"Street," she managed to push out after a long moment of battling clouded thoughts. "Bishop Street. He needed to be told of the Nathrazazm anyways."

He laughed suddenly at her slur, and when she realized it, Brigitte broke into a giggle. A giggle. The realization mortified her for a moment, and then she laughed harder.

When they had calmed down and prepared to go find Street, Brigitte first stopped Marcarius with sharp jabs against his chest with her finger. "And I better not hear anymore of your damn "yea"s tonight, you got that?"

xx

AN: Yay for drunken spontaneity, eh? Before I get any complaints, let me remind you folks of the era this story takes place in. Marriage didn't typically involve a few year courtship back then, and for soldiers who always flitted so close to early death, it was even faster. Next chapter you'll see how it actually plays out for them too.


	6. Chapter 6

xx

Abbendis woke the next morning alone to a bed smelling of Marcarius. She pressed the blanket to her chest as she sat up, remembering clearly the night before, and found the ring hanging upon her left hand. A simple gold band, meant by Marcarius to be a placeholder until he could purchase something more fitting. She had turned the idea away, taking a liking to something so simple.

She turned her hand over, studying it, while recalling more of the night. After the long drudge of convincing Street of the truth of the visions, there was a quick blur of the marriage and the time in the dark with Marcarius on this bed. She couldn't even remember the return from Street's room to her own with Marcarius. Had she still been in only her underarmor...?

The memory of her new husband atop her, the mindless pleasure and passion, the feelings she had been exposed to then, came back to her most strongly as she turned the gold band over. Husband. By the Light... Marcarius had left afterward, she faintly recalled, leaving her bed colder as he returned to his own room to prevent suspicion. It was against protocol for ranking officers to take spouses among the troops, and unthinkable for the High General to do so, leading them to keep it secret.

Her head turned towards the door when she heard a brewing commotion. She knew she should dress quickly to not allow anyone to see the High General outside of her armor, but she couldn't find the motivation. She settled for just listening.

"Trying to poison her?" Marcarius was asking in a condescending tone. "I am the head of the guard. The High General's safety is my chief responsibility, and I'm _your_ superior. Now stand aside."

"I'm not saying you are trying to poison her, Commander," one of her personal guards mumbled. "But have you tested it? Anyone could have slipped some in while it was being prepared."

"I'm no fool. That is why I prepared this food _myself._ And since I will personally be with the High General as we review strategy for our arrival in Northrend, you both are relieved for the next hour. I expect to see no trace of any of you until then, either!"

The door opened loudly, and in walked Marcarius carrying a full tray of breakfasts with the three guards speechless behind him. He saw her still on the bed and swiftly shut the door behind him with his heel, cutting her from their sight. She watched him carefully set the tray upon her fixed table and wait to hear the guards leaving before regarding her.

There was a subtle tension then as he clearly didn't know what to say. How she might respond now without alcohol, she felt he was thinking. Still holding the sheets to her chest, she showed him the ring and said, "You can relax. I'll have no regrets for it."

Her... husband managed a smile and nodded, then picked up the tray again, bringing it over to her. "I made you breakfast."

"Sweet of you, but..." Abbendis was about to dismiss it due to losing her appetite whenever she sailed, but she found herself without the usual sickness at the moment. "Set it here then. I trust there's some for yourself?"

"I've already eaten," he stated. Gesturing at the grand meal, he mentioned, "The meat will spoil very quickly, so the galley men are being very generous in the portions to clear as much of it before then."

She thanked him. After a moment's pause, she asked, "Can you hand me my nightshirt?"

He smiled and nodded, beginning to hunt for the discarded article. "Of course. The question now is where did I throw it?"

Abbendis remembered suddenly the night, his hands upon her and the fervor in which they shed their clothing. She felt the beginnings of a blush and forced the feeling away, though she stared at her ring again... Married. Husband. She wished to eat quickly, before the sickness came back in a rush.

He found the shirt and politely turned aside while she slipped it on, then sat on the edge of the bed as she began her meal. After a short silence, he cleared his throat and said, "So... married now."

Abbendis slowly nodded, setting the food aside to say, "Indeed. For now though, it would be best to keep that forgotten with the rest of last night."

"No, actually," Marcarius declared, surprising her. "Out there, among everyone else, then yes, no though of it. But in private? I just married you, Brigitte. Last night, I made you my wife, and me your husband. I'm not going to pretend that didn't happen, not with you."

Abbendis stared at him. His expression was resolute, and, as her gaze lingered, she found his face was beautiful. She had nearly forgotten the look of a warlock he once had about him, now without his dark, enchanted robes and wearing simple Crusade garb. Turning back to her food, she conceded, "Then only in private."

They left talk of the marriage then as she said, "I forgot to ask before, how is it you survived your time in Scourge hands? It's been bothering me ever since your demon led me to you."

That sly smile of his spread his lips, and he fished out something from a pocket. Abbendis saw a small purple orb rolling around his palm and gave him a curious stare. "Any true warlock, not those cultist mockeries you encounter, will always have the last laugh, yea as I told you once, so long ago. This, my dear, is why."

She faintly recalled the comment, back when she had threatened to end his life in their first meeting. She kept her expression unimpressed. "What does it do, exactly?"

"It's called a soulstone. I may not have command of the Holy Light, as you do, where you can bring back spirits of the recent dead to their bodies, but with this I can store a soul, prevent it from drifting Onward, so that when slain, the stored can lie in wait and return back to their bodies on their own volition." He held it out for her to study and shrugged. "Unpleasant, but with it, not even the Lich King himself can raise my body undead."

"You are a sly fox, aren't you," Abbendis muttered, holding his soulstone. The surface was slick, though no oils clung to her fingers. However, something was off with the trinket, something that made the blazing Light inside her cringe, so she handed it back to him quickly. Soul and shadow magicks were repulsive, but they no longer brought her to quick bursts of anger.

He slipped it back in his pocket, nodding at her. "That, I'd ask you to keep a dear secret. It is often my last salvation. Now then, saying we were to discuss our plans for Northrend wasn't just to get the guards out of our hair. You have the strongest of the Scarlet Crusade sailing for the stronghold of the Scourge, where you'll find monsters far worse than anything from the Plaguelands. And we just _lost_ the Plaguelands. What is your plan?"

"Like Stratholme, the Scholomance, Naxxramas, and the crypt in search of the Ashbringer, we'll stick to small, concentrated teams. We will hit crucial Scourge points and scour the lands with holy fire. I have plans for a stronghold of our own when we land, built stronger than the Enclave ever was. I trust the Holy Light will lead us to victory."

"All this after we've dealt with the Nathrezim, of course. But while trusting the Light is well and good, we are looking at two or three legions against an entire continent of Scourge. Perhaps a new idea for the Crusade, but what about securing allies? One army can become two, and three, and there will be less inter-fighting over encroachment, grudges, and the like. Play our cards wrong, and even the Alliance might come after us as if we were an _obstacle_ to be dealt with before the true war."

Abbendis frowned. "They'd be fools to try and stop _us_ from fighting the Scourge. They should just pledge their soldiers under us, so that they could be put to actual use in those frozen lands."

She noticed his suddenly cold smile and the return of the old arrogant warlock. "And zing goes the High General's head. After all the Crusade has done _against_ the Alliance, after everything I told you about the other founders that they already know, you expect them to suddenly trust you? No, dear Abbendis. When they come, you must first make whatever amends you can to them and prove that for once the Scarlet Crusade is in capable hands."

"Excuse me?" she asked, expression turning to stone. The insubordination of this man! All of her building rage froze when his hand found hers, and it vanished when she realized the startlingly different relationship between them.

"'Tolerable as a rabid dog,' is a line I used once and the same view they see you with. The Crusade has done terrible things, Brigitte – you know that now. In search of good, yes, but the means are unacceptable. It is the easiest trap to fall into. Warlocks know this well. _I_ know this well. It isn't my place to advice you on matters of the Crusade, but this is something I know from working on the other side. If you don't make peace, the Alliance will come for you. Adventures, yea like myself, will band together and take your head."

It was a hard stone to swallow, she found, so she chewed it over for later rather than give in. "Perhaps you're right on making allies in these lands. If the natives rebel, we can unhinge the Scourge on a far vaster scale than alone. It should be easy securing reinforcements to fight the Scourge."

Marcarius smiled slightly. "You'll likely come to hate me for how much I'll argue against you in the coming days, but... do not count on them as easy allies. The natives will have found ways to live among the Scourge without facing extinction. Sometimes, their methods will be unfavorable, and in Scarlet eyes, "intolerable." They are victims though. Likely, every faction will expect great returns from leaving their safety to fight once again, often far more than you are willing to pay. On this matter, I am an expert, so with your permission, I will take command of diplomatic operations – with all actions approved with your confidence, of course."

Abbendis set aside her food yet again and rubbed the bridge of her nose, a brewing headache bringing along finally the return of seasickness. She gave him a look. "I'll only tell you this because you're my bloody husband, but I loath all the politics that come with this position. I just want to lead the battles with the Light at my side. I was a paladin first."

"And I was a scholar first. I will help you as best I can."

Looking at the food only made the sickness worse, so Abbendis began to climb out of bed until realizing she had nothing on below the shirt. She asked Marcarius to find her bottoms as well, and while he searched, said, "You never answered my question from last night either. Will you stay after we eliminate the Dreadlord?"

The warlock straightened from under the fixed table with her undergarments in hand. There was a small smile as he said, "For you, Brigitte, I shall." Marcarius. Her bloody husband. "Now, finish donning your armor and let's go on deck. I'll teach you the horizon trick to get rid of that seasickness."

She pulled on the undergarments under the blanket while he took the tray back to the table, then stood up from the bed. When he turned back to her, she noticed how his normally calm expression lit up with sudden attention. Abbendis felt slightly self-conscious under his gaze, standing in just a thin shirt and bottoms that covered none of her legs.

However, keeping the shyness out of her voice, she suggested, "Why don't you help me with it, will you?"

The ring had a good weight on her hand.

xx

"You really think you stand a chance against me, warlock?" Abbendis asked, side-stepping slowly around the deck across from Marcarius.

The others crowded around them muttering about the fight between the Commander (the title stuck though his position changed) and the High General. Marcarius himself stood fully healed in his crystalline robes and wielding his polished staff, regarding her with his confident, nearly arrogant, smirk as he kept pace with her.

He drawled smugly, "I am charged with keeping you safe, High General. So long as we keep our magicks away from this fight, I'll show you the position is well earned."

A vanilla spar between them. No warlock arts, no holy Light. Just steel, wood, and muscle. Rarely was Abbendis so eager for a fight.

She struck first, heaving her axe up for a heavy blow. Her wily husband slipped aside in a measured step and thrust his staff up for a long blow, thumping her shoulder. She felt nothing with her heavy spaulders on, but her own attack missed entirely. She stepped in and struck with the butt of her weapon. While he was still raising his staff to parry, her leg snapped up for a kick in his stomach, sending him stumbling back with a chastised grin.

"Do you warlocks even train in hand-to-hand, or do you make your demons do all the heavy lifting?" she taunted, readying herself for the next exchange.

Mrcarius twirled his staff in his hands, the raven feathers flowing about from the motions. That sly look returned to his eyes. "I once watched a sheepherder best one of the prince's royal guards at Stormwind. Never underestimate a good staff in capable hands."

Abbendis struck first again, but again he reacted in a quick flurry of motion. The staff smacked her weapon aside, then flicked back to scold her extended wrist. Before she could recover herself, his weapon blurred as it struck from end to end, much faster than her own weapon could keep pace with. Her chest, her shoulder, her wrist, her thigh. He hit her for point, point, and point again, and she was forced to retreat backwards in hopes of building enough distance to recover.

He managed once good strike to her head before she locked him in a parry. Abbendis had a fierce expression on her face as she overwhelmed his strength quickly and checked him back with her plated shoulder. The flat of her weapon slapped his side before he regained his footing entirely, and he dropped to a knee.

Abbendis pressed forward, only to find her movement completely halted by the head of his staff jabbing into the center of her chest. Growling, she quickly reached up to yank the cursed weapon away from him, but it danced away from her and slapped her hand again. Her next step forward had her find his staff in the hip of her planted leg, sending her back a step. Cheeky bastard grinned from his kneeled position, effectively keeping her back.

For several minutes more their duel went on. His staff was quick, striking her many times in controlled motions and focusing on her weapon hand and exposed spots. Her armor gave her an advantage yet slowed her, while his enchanted robes kept him going even when faced with her powerful strikes. It was obvious his weapon trumped hers, no matter her skill, due to its speed and double sided striking, though she'd face no more than a few bruises.

Even so, it was obvious how he managed against the Death Knight horde for so long, especially when she blessed him to increase his fighting abilities. The harlot at his side would further that quick defense.

The ending came abrupt when Abbendis had him pressed against the edge of the ship's deck, with only the water behind him. He had finally been disarmed, yet when she stepped in to finish it, he lunged forward and caught her in his arms. Abbendis froze for one crucial moment, and then with all his strength he pulled the both of them backwards and over the edge of the deck.

They had tumbled into the water together. Abbendis had screamed at him at impact, knowing it was suicide for a soldier in full plate armor to try swimming, but he just had that amused smile of his as his arms never left her and he assisted in keeping her afloat. That particular smile was one he only showed her in private, and clearly he deemed it safe while they were overboard and the troops scrambled for a rope to get them back up.

Once they were back on deck, Marcarius revealed that he had even rescued her axe from sinking when she dropped it. Even so, she gave him a full chastising before the crew at the dangerous and stupid action and sent him away before retreating to her room to change. Wet, salty, and humiliated, Abbendis cursed her husband several times as she dressed and toweled her armor dry.

She sat on her bed while the armor finished drying in the sun, and idly her attention returned to the ring hanging from a necklace, hidden under her shirt and tabard. She pulled it free and looked at the gold band. That damn smile of his appeared in her mind, and his skill in fending off her attacks in their duel.

Abbendis closed her eyes and ran her hand through her wet hair, smiling finally.

xx

"And why should we waste our armaments against... fish and sea birds?" the Archbishop asked, mocking Marcarius for his proposition. The fool should have known better.

It was Jordan that defended him though, in a stoic tone, "We do not know what to expect upon arrival, your Holiness. Our enemy employs floating cities and citadels. If Arthas has stationed one as scout over the water for approaching fleets, as I would, I want my men practiced at shooting things that aren't on the ground with guns that aren't fixed."

"We still have scores of war birds and legions of archers, Commander," the Archbishop continued, "and we haven't seen offensive necropoli since the days Lordaeron was lost. I say it is better to conserve our ammo, for we most certainly will need it upon our arrival – and restocking will not come easy in those frozen lands."

Commander Jordan turned to her, inquiring, "High General?"

The rest of her advisers followed suit, awaiting the final word of the High General. Not for the first time, Abbendis thanked the Light for her husband's trick of looking at the horizon to reduce seasickness, so that she could maintain a steady appearance among them. "Less than a handful of our men have trained for naval warfare. I'd rather we lose some stock of cannonballs and gunpowder now than a few thousand lives to a surprise later. Send the word to the other ships to begin drills."

It would keep the men disciplined and sharp, staving the detrimental effect of sitting on their asses for two months. Jordan hid a smile as he nodded and saluted. Only a few moments later he was barking loud orders to the officers, sending them rowing back to their respective ships, while the Archbishop glowered at Marcarius behind his back. Her husband only looked to her, stoic in appearance to any eye that wasn't hers.

She left to the front of the ship – she didn't bother trying to learn sailor terminology – and stared out at the open sea. She heard the soft padding of cloth boots as Marcarius joined her alone, leaning against the rail. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not locked in my room, hurling my guts out," she remarked. "Yourself?"

"Tense. Nervous. Anxious. Take your pick."

Abbendis looked at him, eyebrow raised. "You? I didn't think such was possible, not the man that once stood between me and an entire score of Death Knights while wounded and without flinching."

A smile passed his lips and his eye found hers. "That's just simple work. Enemy on one side and myself on the other. Too much mystery shrouds the path ahead of us, yea with the Lich King, Nathrezim, and Light knows what else is hiding in Northrend. Even out here on the water, without a living soul for leagues around us, I feel like we're about to be blindsided by _something._"

A casual glance behind her showed they were truly alone, so Abbendis allowed herself to quip, "Ah, a man that shares my love for the simplistic and straightforward. I was wondering why I married you."

"I like to think it was my bold and charismatic nature, with dashing looks and daring adventure."

Abbendis laughed, leaning against the rail with him. "And by 'charisma' you mean 'arrogance,' yes? Bloody warlock."

"And it still got me the High General's hand, yes? Makes one question her 'proper' tastes."

"Bastard," she said with a smile. They looked out to the blue horizon together, falling in to a companionable silence. Abbendis wondered again how things might be if they did not need to maintain the professional illusion between them. While they couldn't be heard by the crew at the distance, they could be seen. Her husband was right here yet they could not even touch.

Their journey was already halfway finished. A month more was estimated before they reached Northrend. She announced softly, "Things are about to get very loud."

The first of the cannons fired its practice shots.

xx


	7. Chapter 7

_plums: Don't forget the Scarlet Crusade a militant faction, unlike SW and the Alliance. If you have rank in it, military power is a given. And the Archbishop is a priest in a more game Priest sense, rather than just a real life clergyman. Anyways, he's just another face in her advisers, and he argued the proposition of another adviser. The High General holds all power (without a Grand Crusader or Grand Admiral there) for the final decisions. Ring is plain as an in-game wedding band. As for the close circle of the secret, it goes back to chapter 1 where they hid it - and a sudden "Oh, lol, the High General was keeping warlocky secrets from you" and the reaction to that is what's holding them back. They are looking for people they can trust with the truth, which is... next chapter. (Not saying that keeping the secret close is the best idea, but they are in a corner now.)_

_Jacx64: High Abbot Landgren is the fanatical one (he's also dead in this story thus far). I've got Bishop Street as a... weaker willed man. And don't forget that night he got personally confronted by a drunk High General and warlock, being told by his highest superior that his visions of Light were a Dreadlord invading his mind, the Crimson Dawn is a sham, entered a circle of dark secrecy while he's in a very narrow minded order, and by the point there's the off-hand "Oh, and can you marry us real quick?" you really think he's going to be in a state of mind to argue? Hah. Of course, Abbendis herself doesn't really remember it, which is why it doesn't make actual story.  
_

_As for both of your mutual complaints of "proper"! Don't act like it changes around repeatedly, that's the only case - I know because I gave it a few odd looks before posting. Italics have always been a verbal emphasis empowering a word. _"By the _Light_, it was _fantastic!"_ _Single marks weren't a verbal inflection, only references - usually quoted speech or paraphrases. _"You said 'once,' correct?" "That's great and all, but 'down and back' is as easy as 'fly with two feet.'"_ (compare with _"...but 'down and back' is as easy as flying with two feet."_). I gave made 'proper' "proper" because it was a sarcastic, emphasized, two-finger-quotation-marks-while-talking deal. That's _why_ I did it, but on popular complaint I'll go change it._

xx

The rocking of the ship was barely even a thought to Abbendis when she woke. She could see through the smoked glass window that it was still dark outside, though the cabin was lit by one of her lamps. She frowned, thinking Marcarius must have lit it before he left her that night – though that did not sound like him. A small sound reached her inside the room then, and she tensed up, looking for the source.

It wasn't Marcarius still inside. The lit lamp rested on the fixed table, and in the chair nestled the visible demon under Marcarius's command, Aelina. Abbendis hadn't seen much of the temptress since their journey began, apparently since she remained invisible through spellwork, though she had heard from Marcarius the demon's opinion on their marriage:

Supportive. Abbendis never would have imagined it from a demon, but Abbendis made her master happy, ended his loneliness, and so Aelina supported them. All the sly looks and comments from before came to head as she had realized it was the succubus recognizing the mutual attraction before they themselves did. But taking the place Aelina herself had desired... Abbendis felt a vague suspicion of a repressed jealousy.

Presently, Aelina was using a barb from her whip to pick at one of her long, lacquered fingernails. Sitting up with the sheets over her nude chest, Abbendis asked, "Why are you here?"

The demon didn't turn her attention away from her hand. "Something worried him. He asked me to watch over you while he tries finding what it is. There's five guards at the door too."

Abbendis promptly threw off the blanket and stood, searching for her clothing and armor. Marcarius wasn't one to take such precautions without reason. As she did the last buckle of her breastplate, she made a note to ensure he woke her during moments like these, not let her sleep like a hapless babe. Once her High General tabard was thrown on, the demon finally stood from the table and looked at her, with that pretty and mocking smile on her face.

She would not hide if something was lurking about. "Let's go." Throwing open the doors, Abbendis gathered her guards behind her as well, and together they set out to find her husband.

On deck, a heavy mist clouded nearly everything. It was thick enough that nothing outside their ship could be seen, not even the water from over the side. While Abbendis could understand any unease regarding the mist, she wouldn't undergo such precaution at its appearance. Hopefully Marcarius wasn't becoming a second Goldring, with their new changes.

She found him standing at the bow of the ship, and he wasn't alone. Walking up, she found Commander Jordan with him, speaking in low tones. The two men saluted upon noticing the approach of her precession. With them, she peered out into the mists dubiously and asked, "What's the situation?"

Jordan spoke for them, "Night sentry said the mist was unnatural – went from cloudless night to this in a matter of minutes. A crewman of the White Heart thought he saw something lurking out in the mist, passed the warning to their captain, and just a minute ago word arrived from the Twin about hearing oars rowing. All ships are at high alert presently."

And she hadn't been woken? Abbendis stared at Marcarius until he scratched his cheek and looked aside, then glared when she saw a smile pass his lips. "Was the mist conjured?"

"The mages sleep," Marcarius brought up, "and it's outside my expertise to know."

"As I told him earlier," Jordan said, words colored with humor as he turned to the water again, "I'm surprised to hear even he has weaknesses."

"Yes, well," Marcarius said, the tone of annoyance between friends. "I'm not entirely out of tricks. Aelina, I'm glad you're here. I need your help."

The overboard rope was dropped down the side and the succubus made to sit atop it. Before anyone could speak against the idea, the warlock stripped to his pants and dove over the side. Immediately he disappeared into the mist, with the following splash of Northrend's arctic water. They weren't far now, and the weather reflected it.

The party of them waited at the side of the ship. Abbendis had her arms crossed, hiding worry with annoyance. "He didn't even ask for my approval. That man deserves a flogging for all his insubordination."

"Yes, but it certainly speeds up action," Jordan remarked, leaned against the railing beside Aelina. "Seems near suicide to enter that water though, disregarding whatever else is in there. He'll be hypothermic in a half minute more... Succubus, he's positioned you here to know where to return from reconnaissance, correct?"

Aelina nodded, feet kicking over the edge. Abbendis grudgingly acknowledged Marcarius' cunning. She'd rather he have used that floating eye of his for it, despite the obvious glow of the eye. While they waited, however, Abbendis thought she saw such a glow out in the mist. A very pale orange, perhaps her imagination...

A ship's fire bell erupted a sudden commotion. Jordan tensed up and turned to the sentry, shouting immediate orders, while Abbendis turned and ran to the helm, where the recently woken admiral stood. "Captain Shely, flash message to the other ships. Find out what's going on!"

"Forgive me, High General," the man said, bowing his head, "but the mist is too thick for the signals."

Growling, Abbendis shouted to the whiteness, "Jordan!" All the while the fire bell continued its ominous racket.

The officer's voice returned, "The men are already in row boat! They are to rally the ships to arms and receive word, High General! Warbirds are being saddled for travel!"

Abbendis stalked back to the deck, pleased with his efficiency. At the rope where Aelina sat there was commotion as Marcarius finally returned, and her guards helped hoist up his numb form. Seeing him left shaking and curled on the wood, Abbendis flashed a brief healing spell over him to ease away the effects. Nearly immediately he picked himself and threw on his clothes.

"Report," she demanded, callous in appearance to his pains.

It took him a second longer to speak clearly, without chattering teeth, "Wood ship, long body, no sails, low to water. It's manned by giants, some race I've never encountered before. I'm... too late to stop the first attack, but there are more. They are boarding the ships."

Jordan asked no questions, turning to the men dragging up the complaining gryphons. "You hear that, grunts? There's ships in the water that aren't ours. Find them and mark them with torches. Our cannons will handle the rest!"

They mounted and flew off with salutes. Even before then, the deafening booms of cannon fire begun, more bells sounding and much closer, and the cries of men rose along with powerful bellows. They could see nothing but the glow of fire in the fog.

"Wake the damned mages!" Abbendis ordered, frustrated. "I want these mists gone five minutes ago!"

For another minute there was only confusion and hopeless waiting for them, until a crewman on the opposite side of the folly shouted, "Enemy spotted! They're right- gaurk!" They saw the man get impaled from a thrown harpoon, clutching the massive weapon in his stomach. His eyes bulged very wide on his youthful face, staggering back a step, then tumbled back over the edge.

Roped hooks landed upon their deck from below and latched onto their railings.

Furious, Abbendis grabbed her axe from her back and swung it free. Her guard leaped forward around her protectively, while Marcarius appeared next to her, looming just in front with his staff before him. The admiral's voice bellowed, "Get those hooks cut, you seadogs! I don't want one stinking foot nor claw touching this deck!"

"Aelina," Marcarius ordered firmly, and the succubus drawled acknowledgment lashing out with her whip and severing the first of the ropes.

Crewmen sprang forward with knives and axes, cutting quickly, but more hooks appeared, while the first monstrous shape appeared climbing up.

A soldier dove forward with his long sword and pierced the shape with a cry. A second later they saw a massive green hand grab him around the middle and toss the man over. The giant finished climbing up, revealing their enemy. Standing at twice the height of their soldiers, he was thick with muscle and sported long hair tangled with sea plants and oceanic additions. It's skin was green, with clothing limited to a hide skirt, and the weapon a massive harpoon or spear.

The giant roared loud enough to send the nearby crewmen quaking, and the first paid for his fear with his life as the giant struck him through the chest. The next instant, a dark spell hit the giant from the side, sending him reeling, and Jordan dove in for a clean sword thrust. The giant burst into dust at the attack.

Before more hooks could be cut, others leaped upon the deck. More soldiers rallied to the challenge, screaming fear and anger, and her stalwart crusaders were thrown into a confusing slaughter. The giants would turn to dust when slain, while her men were either crushed against the deck or thrown over. Giants continued boarding them, two dozen at this point, and when Abbendis moved to join the fray, Marcarius snapped orders at her guards, causing them to press in tight and start moving her further away. He continued throwing spells at the invaders.

Abbendis cursed at Marcarius and her guards for trying to keep her away. Using her strength, she shoved past them and ran up with her axe raised, cleaving the first giant down the middle. With Jordan at her side, they worked together to push forward and dispatch the giants as they came, while her men kept the invaders contained.

xx

Bishop Street led the prayers for the dead. Everyone listened with heads bowed respectfully for their slain. The sun beat no warmth upon them in the arctic weather, adding misery to the whole wake. Only one ship had been sunk, her entire crews killed or captured, but almost a hundred other lives had been lost to the invaders. The screams of the captured as the remaining giants rowed away remained burned in everyone's mind.

After prayers, Abbendis stepped up for a speech for the men, helping keep morale raised after such a blow. The raid left a stark reminder though:

They were not far from Northrend.

xx

"_Here..."_

Abbendis woke not in her bed but standing at her table strewn with the maps she had packed away the previous night, clad in her shift. A cold feeling crept down her back as she saw her finger firmly pressed to one particular part of the map – the southern coast of Dragonblight, near the center of the territory. The words were impressed powerfully in her mind still. The voice wanted her fleet to land there.

Swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth, she looked up from the map to her room. Immediately, she spotted the dark clad Marcarius, watching her with an unreadable expression, turning a pink crystal around in his hands. Her brows furrowed, fear in her eyes, and saw around her a circle of lit candles.

She let out a shaky breath and collapsed in her fixed chair. Her whole body prickled with the feeling of sweat and goosebumps. The air was freezing even indoors. Unable to call up her mental safeguards or tough exterior, she breathed out, "Marcarius..."

"Shh," he returned, stepping forward to her and setting the crystal on the table before encircling her with his arms. "Everything is alright."

"It... controlled me," she said, trembling. "The dreadlord took control of my _body_, Marcarius. It made me its _puppet._ It's fucking _toy."_

"We are much closer now," he told her softly. "It's power grows without having to reach as far. I had to hide myself, but I stood ready to stop it if it went too far."

"Too far?" she asked, voice hard and growing hotter. "Too _far?_ It just enslaved your bloody wife, Marcarius. How far is too far to you?"

He leaned in and kissed her clammy forehead with lips warm like a fire. His whole body felt warm and comforting to her, and he said nothing to argue. Abbendis knew his reasoning, knew she'd agree with him had she been in a steadier state of mind, but right now she felt entirely helpless. All her strength in the Light, all her history and skill, and she could do nothing to stop the demon from taking control of her.

"Never again, Marcarius," she whispered, clutching his robes with her hands. "Never let him control me again, I beg you. Do the ritual. Shield me from that damned demon. And when we find it, help me send it screaming into oblivion."

"I will, my love. I will never let it touch your mind again. You have my oath." She felt a strange resonance pass through him as he gave his word. The power of a warlock oath, she realized.

With her in his arms, he lifted her up and carried to her bed as if she were no more than a child. Abbendis let herself be taken, and when she was lying down, she stopped him from letting go. Looking up at him, she suggested, "Join me. Stay here tonight."

With a small smile, he reminded, "I thought we agreed not to do this as often, to keep the men from suspicion."

"To hell with the men. I want my husband tonight."

She released him so he could strip his robes and boots, climbing next to her when he was clad in just his pants. Her hands found the warm, bare skin of his shoulders and arms, sliding around to his muscled back. He leaned in for a lingering kiss. His sturdy presence and warmth consumed her, until her hand buried into the locks of his hair and her want became too much.

"Please," she breathed finally, "I need you Marcarius."

His knuckles of his hand brushed her cheek. His smile was genuine and gaze caring, that of the man she had once stood back to back with against the Death Knights and came to marry. With a puff of breath, she grabbed him by the neck and shoved his face back against hers, sparking him to action. She was already squirming her shift up when his hands came to remove it entirely.

xx

"What is it?" the men asked. Everyone stood on the deck, staring out at the massive monolith thrust free of the water and scraping the sky. It was supported by portioned stone columns, and the top was flat and smooth. Clearly, the structure had been crafted, but by mortal hands, no one could say.

Abbendis stood with Marcarius. She looked back, where the dozens of other ships could be seen, and spotted the lingering trail of similar structures as this, and then she looked north, at the distant ones also found there. "Ever seen anything like this?" she asked the warlock.

Eyes focused upwards, he shook his head. "Nor read anything of it. It appears like the ruins of a momentous bridge, yea one fit for the gods... With your permission, I'd like to take a gryphon and see what's atop."

Several of the crewman looked at them, and she could tell many wanted the same. Other shrewd eyes watched to see how much she would indulge her "pet warlock." Whispers already had begun behind her back about the man again, forgetting his actions at New Avalon. She couldn't afford to give the conspirators further reason to dissent.

"Permission not granted." To the crowd, she spoke louder, "Back to work, all of you. Stop caring about some fancy rock and focus on battles ahead. Two days to landfall!" They sailed onward, growing eager, and while the group dispersed, she noticed the look the warlock gave her before continuing to study the ruin.

xx

Abbendis didn't look from the battle plans when she heard the door open, nor when it closed. Turning a page, she said in a hard tone, "You're late."

"It was a riveting conversation I was bound in, I assure you," was the smooth reply as Marcarius sat himself across from her. The other officers had disbanded from council several hours ago, done without his presence. The night had already reached witching hour by his slow appearance. Once he was seated, she stared at him, expressionless.

He met her eyes steadily, with no guilt. She snorted. "Would you lie to me then, warlock?"

"I would not, wife. You know already what I've done."

Against her word, he had gone to the stables and weeded a hand into saddling a gryphon for him. In the dead of night, he had gone up to inspect the stone bridge ruins, likely paying off the sentries and stable hands to keep quiet.

She turned back to the plans and said, "If your escapade reaches my ears from any mouth, even a rumor, I will have you flogged for thirty lashes. Standard reprimand for defying the High General's orders."

"I was careful," he assured. "After this, I'd like to tell you what I found as well. The whole structure is simple amazing, Brigitte. A bridge – from Northrend to who knows where! Yea a path for the titans themselves, to the center of the world!"

"Dusty stones, Marcarius. All I care about is our landing and the building of our base. If there are allies to be made, let it be done, and we shall finally eliminate the Dreadlord from ever bothering us again."

He remained silent for a short pause, conceding finally, "Very well, High General. What have you agreed upon as our best course of action?"

xx

"Count them out!" Abbendis shouted. Her expression was cold.

"Fif...teen," Marcarius breathed. Another strike split open his skin, spilling red blood. He winced, clenching his hands, then said in a firmer voice, "Sixteen."

Abbendis felt numb to the sight of her husband's strong back bloody. Unthinking. "Seventeen... Eighteen... Ni-Nineteen..." She felt nothing at the snide remarks the crewmen gave regarding him either: Warlock scum like him knew nothing of discipline; deserved double count; bets on if he'd black out from the pain before twenty-five.

"Tw... Twenty-wuh... Argh! …Twenty-two!"

She wouldn't heal him after either. No such special treatment. She remembered her own time strung up, the firm hand of her father administering her punishment for breaching protocol during a Scourge attack. It would make her strong, he had said. It would make Marcarius strong.

At twenty-five, she took the whip from the officer. "Count louder!" She struck, hard as she would any of her men.

The last blow eventually snapped down, and with it was the final chanted count. Marcarius collapsed against his restraints, hanging lifelessly with his back covered in blood. Abbendis stared for a long moment, at both him and the dripping whip, then handed it to the lieutenant. The man saluted, backing aside, and Jordan stepped up. "Shall we cut him down, High General?"

Abbendis turned away from the sight, feeling nothing. In the same tone, she commanded, "Leave him there to sundown."

She heard later his demon took him to his private cabin to care for him. The night before their landing in Northrend, her husband did not visit her. She was left unable to sleep as well. She told herself it was the anxiety.

xx


	8. Chapter 8

xx

The landing upon the shores of Dragonblight passed smoothly. Under direction of Foreman Kaleiki, they marked out the boundaries of the city and immediately set upon construction of a dock. In only a few hours it was done, and the men began unloading their supplies. Surrounded by the officials and council, Abbendis declared the renewed name and purpose of the Scarlet Crusade: the Scarlet Onslaught, as they would be an onslaught against the Scourge over Northrend.

With their thousands of men coming ashore, Kaleiki was given the man power to immediately erect several basic buildings and begin the construction of their walls. A dispute broke out when the Archbishop demanded the cathedral take precedence for construction, argued by Jordan for the need of fortifications in case of an immediate counter attack. Kaleiki, Light blessed, revealed that he had already drawn the plans for the cathedral's construction and would have the men start immediately while others focused on the defenses.

The first night every man slept in tents on shore, or the higher ranks in their comfortable cabins on the Sinner's Folly. Until then, Marcarius had yet to say a word to her despite his presence, and after short commands to her guards about watching her, he left to shore for his own tent. Abbendis had the feeling that he was holding a grudge against her for the lashings.

That would make him a child though. He knew the consequences of defying her orders, knew the brewing discontent over his presence, and knew she would need to retaliate in full to demonstrate a lack of relationship between them. She refused to be disturbed by his cold shoulder.

As she lie there alone in her bed, wishing fervently she had a warm fire or at least thrice the blankets, her thoughts turned back to the mess her husband's back had been after the lashes. How he hung defeated at the end of his count. She cursed, tossing and turning, until resigning herself to another sleepless night. She dressed again and poured over their maps and plans, plotting the course for a landing in Icecrown after the Nathrezim was dead.

It was late in the night with a bottle of rum in hand when Abbendis heard a firm knock at her door. She cursed, stowing the drink away, and called them in. To her surprise, it was a large group that entered. There was Bishop Street and Sir Pendance, paladins Gendal and Fulner, and trailing them were Commander Jordan and Marcarius himself.

"What is this?" she asked as Marcarius shut the door behind him.

"Tis be my own question, High General," Pendance rumbled with his deep voice, eying the group of them. "Ruffled from my own bed in the mid of night by the Commander. Important it better be, boy."

Without a glance at Abbendis, Marcarius swept further into the room, drawing everyone's attention. "It is, I assure you. You see, gentlemen and ladies, a terrible secret has been kept from you, yea the very reason for my presence among the Scarlet Crusade – now Onslaught."

"Marcarius," Abbendis cut in, tone low and warning. He looked at her, eyes bright and meaningful. He meant to bring all of them into the circle of the knowledge of the Nathrezim – how far did he mean? All the way to Saidan Dathrohan? Abbendis looked at those he gathered and didn't fault any of his choices. Stalwart men, righteous and strong in the Light, each one. At his unspoken question, she conceded a nod for permission.

"Some of my knowledge is blasphemous," he continued, regarding the many faces once again. "Yea especially among the... overeager within the Crusade. But with time I've come to trust those led by the High General Abbendis junior, even the High General herself, and I feel assured you will listen to reason and assist in the dire problems ahead. Northrend is a dangerous enough land without internal strife."

"Get to it then, and let us decide," Pendance said.

"I will skip the long stories. Each of you is aware of the vision of the Light that reached the High General many days ago and the idea of the Crimson Dawn. That very night I was led to the Scarlet Enclave by the feeling of a powerful fel entity – a demonic presence - and yea well beyond any one of us in strength. How your cause is to hunt the Scourge, mine is to the extermination of the Burning Legion.

"I found the High General and explained my reason for coming, and together we managed a suspicion that a member of the Legion, yea one of the dreadful Nathrezim, had impersonated the Light to seduce and misguide her to its cause. If you are unaware as to why it would ask something so agreeable to your cause, know that Lordaeron was not the only faction to be betrayed by the prince.

"Alas, it was for this reason I remained in New Avalon, hidden within that study as, some have called, the High General's pet warlock. Our fears proved founded though when again the fel entity reached for her and I studied it and secured the source. Beyond that moment of terrible truth, we worked in secret plot a way of defeating mine enemy and ending its influence within the Crusade.

"That was the mutual agreement between myself and the High General that tossed me from battleground to sea, and now here, with you. The moment has come, fine allies and friends, where we have landed at the destination of the Nathrezim's desire, and now we mice must prepare a trap for the cat. I've called you all here, now, because I can feel its presence drawing closer to us even now. Within a week's time it will dwell amongst us."

xx

Construction passed along with surprising smoothness. Abbendis didn't even know if the Lich King had returned from his attack against the Light of the Plaguelands, if Tirion's head rested on a pike, or if the frozen crown had been shattered by a purified Ashbringer. They planned appropriately for the worst.

Abbendis' New Hearthglen – as the town was called – house finished construction early into their arrival. She was pleased by its very simple and unassuming design, moving in immediately. Her husband finally sat her down and explained his understanding of her actions with the lashing, holding no grudge, and though Abbendis had scoffed away his words, she felt a great relief.

Despite the namesake of this particular land, Dragonblight, the Scarlet Onslaught was left alone by the mighty beasts. Their probing scouts found shortly into their venture their close proximity to the Azure Dragonshrine and informed her that the blot in the distant snow was actually the soaring tower-city of Wyrmrest Temple, only leagues away from them.

Scourge had a minimal presence here. Despite her misgivings regarding the Nathrezim, Abbendis realized this was a great staging point for their war against the Scourge. They could build in peace, until their city was fortified enough that not even the sweeping armies of the Lich King could blemish its soils. With Marcarius, they began drawing ideas on how they might procure the dragon's aid in fighting the Scourge.

The walrus-folk Marcarius had also been insistent upon, though Abbendis didn't share the same hope for them as she did the fierce dragons. Marcarius had promised armies from the natives, not a few spear throwing fishermen.

The greatest news though came five days into their arrival, from one of their deep scouts. In the far north of Dragonblight, he had come upon the mountain that Icecrown Citadel rested against the other side of. At this mountain's base was a back entrance into the citadel, called the Wrathgate. There, they could make their final push against the Lich King rather than fight, bleed, and die in journey around through the heartland of the Scourge.

That night though, Abbendis had found Marcarius knocking on her door. Once she had locked the door behind him, there came from him a sudden passion and hunger that took them to the bedroom far quicker than their usual trysts. Well after they had finished, lying curled together under the blankets, she guessed the reason and coax it from him.

"It's here, isn't it? The dreadlord," she asked quietly.

He was silent for a long while. Finally, he admitted, "Tomorrow. In whatever shape it takes, it will be here tomorrow."

"And you're nervous?" she asked, rubbing his chest. Her own anxiety remained coiled tightly inside.

"Nervous? Brigitte, I am downright petrified." The admission sent a startled shock through her. "The Nathrezim are not creatures of stories; they are every bit as frightful as rumor prescribes. My experience against Balnazzar does not make the confrontation easier. It... only reveals to me the full extent of the approaching terror. And it is not myself I have to worry about anymore."

Abbendis frowned, unnerved by the man she'd always known as unflinching sounding like this. She tried shaking off his fears. "I am a good deal hardier than those you were with before, mind you, and you have the Light of the Scarlet Onslaught with you."

"And our healer paladin also had the holy Light with him, up to when his head was ripped clean off his shoulders and his body corroded into acid," was the acrid whisper.

An uneasy silence fell between them. Finally, Marcarius stirred and regathered her in his arms. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to give voice to my doubts."

Abbendis shook her head and buried her face against his neck. "If you cannot confide your feelings with your wife, who else is there?"

"Aelina. There was always Aelina," he murmured with a short laugh.

Her finger stopped his lips. "Any reminder of your succubus is forbidden when you're in bed with me."

She could feel the way his lips pursed to kiss the lingering finger and smiled as she moved it away. She pulled herself up so their faces were only inches apart, staring in the dim light at his features and the fond way he looked back. It was so strange, she found, their history and this outcome between them. Yet, lying there with him the night before the confrontation with the dreadlord, she knew she wouldn't have it any other way. The ring she had slipped back on rested on her hand with a surely, content weight.

As their mutual gaze continued, his lips quirked in amusement and he asked, "Afraid you'll forget what I look like by tomorrow?"

She snorted. "Hardly. I'm just thinking about us, tomorrow, and so on."

"Mmhm."

She took his left hand then, looking at it and the spark of gold on his ring finger. "You never take it off, do you?"

"It blends with my enchanted ones, so no one notices – and if they do, they won't suspect. I like the reminder. Gets me through the blunt eyed stares when we are out there," he admitted, not without humor.

Abbendis looked back to his dark eyes, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder when it fell over. That wasn't a matter they often discussed. "Does it bother you?"

"That we must hide our marriage? No, the alternative is worse. But the High General is a hard woman, and it can become easy to forget that she might care for me more any than the soldiers she must order to their deaths. There's that nagging voice that asks if it is even an act."

Abbendis found herself unable to say anything in return. She had been raised to be impartial, to behave without any emotional ties, and to do what she must, but she would never want her husband to be a sacrifice for her cause. If the situation called for it...

Eventually, the hand that held his moved to lace their fingers together, and her other did the same for his right. She told him, sincere, "No matter what, Marcarius, I do love you."

"I love you too, Brigitte." The complete lack of flippancy in the response, giving it a mellow throb of genuine emotion, raised her spirit. Reveling in the feeling, she felt moved to kiss him and did, still pinning his hands under hers. It was slow and patient despite the aggressiveness of her position, and when they split apart again, smiling, he mentioned softly, "The Brigitte Abbendis, my wife. Light, that'll never fully sink in."

She laughed, resting her forehead against his. "You keep going on about it like I'm some celebrity."

"I dare say you are," he insisted. "You have a part in the forging of the legendary Ashbringer, are the last living founder of the Scarlet Crusade, High General of the now Scarlet Onslaught, and stalwart antagonist of the dreadful Scourge. You have a place in the histories of this world that will last far longer than my own."

Hearing it all out with his praise actually embarrassed her, and she hid it with another kiss. "You're own story isn't yet finished," she mentioned softly in reminder.

"With tomorrow, it could be." There was no fear in his words then, only pensive dismissal. He smiled suddenly. "I don't want to sleep, because that'll just hasten the confrontation. I'd much rather lie here awake with you all night."

She silently agreed with him but said, "We'll need to be rested with our strength up."

Neither said anything following that, returning to their own thoughts. She remained atop him, looking down with their hands still bound together. His eyes finally noticed the way the position revealed her body to him and slowly dropped down in careless study. The attention made her self-conscious, until he muttered in distant fascination, "Gods, you are beautiful." He finished with his eyes back on her face, smiling.

Abbendis felt the same warm glow she did whenever he reaffirmed it and smiled. Slyly, she leaned in and whispered with uncharacteristic husk, "Well, husband, I suppose we don't need to sleep _just_ yet." By the spark that entered his eyes, he knew what she meant, and his hands soon followed up, shedding hers to find her skin.

It was possibly their last night together. She intended to relish every moment together, to live as she had not before. Already they had silently agreed he would be sleeping here, in his wife's bed, but sleep would come later.

xx

Grand Admiral Barean Westwind.

From the grave itself the legendary figure appeared to return, somehow still alive in these frozen lands of death. Guided by the Light itself to their location, to the great cheer of her men. He was given lodgings, food, and enthusiastic attention. To Abbendis, he even insisted he had no intention of taking over her place, instead preferring the position as adviser.

It was almost too good to be true. Fortunately, it also was. Abbendis had strong suspicions the very moment that man had come, on this day. Marcarius, locked from his arts and all things warlock, had smiled and welcomed the guest with his usual polite tact. Then, the first moment they were alone, he impressed with careful certainty the webs of shadow, the broiling corruption inside, the dark mark left in every wake, and the boundless power welled deep inside the Grand Admiral.

With no mistake, the Grand Admiral was the Nathrezim.

"-yea like the Grand Crusader," Marcarius finished. His poise was intact and no fear or worry marked him like it had the night. Only heavy thoughts.

Abbendis made a quick exception to her High General persona and took his hand in hers, confident in their privacy. "We will win out. The time has come to put this matter to rest for good."

He squeezed back. "Unless you have any new objections, I shall rally the men to the cathedral. We must be certain of the confrontation though; I cannot reveal myself until the very last moment."

Abbendis recalled the ritual he had put himself through, just before the Nathrezim arrived. Aelina had been sent back to her demonic homeworld, and all of Marcarius' power over shadow and magic had been locked so deep inside that not even the Dreadlord would be able to recognize her husband as a warlock. If it knew that the Scarlet Crusade had allowed a warlock among them, it would know its disguise was useless.

"You are certain you won't need time to recover when the lock comes off?" she asked.

She knew immediately he was preparing himself to lie by his small changes, not the least of which was the sudden way he couldn't look into her eyes, but she squeezed his hand and stepped in. Her proud husband slumped slightly, shaking his head. "I will not be at my best, yea worst still will be the strain of properly returning my protective spells and summoning back Aelina. However, a warlock is most deadly when given time to prepare, and so I have. I have a dozen charged trinkets and scrolls ready for the steepest burdens."

"Good," she said, nodding and stepping back. The High General was back. "Much of this rides on you, warlock. Do not let us down."

Marcarius saluted. "Don't fret, High General. This is what I live for." Abbendis was about to turn and head back to the outside, but his hand on her shoulderplate stopped her. "Please, be very careful with the Nathrezim."

Abbendis gave him a look, lip turned up slightly in amusement. "For once, Commander, have some trust in the Light."

xx

"Ah yes, High General Abbendis, I was meaning to talk to you. Preferably alone, due to the nature of the matter," the aged Grand Admiral Westwind said, turning slightly from the alter at her arrival.

Abbendis joined him in looking up at the detailed stained glass image. "What is it, Grand Admiral?"

"In my travels to you, the Light had warned me that some... dark magic had obscured you from its touch. Like an unnatural void had opened around you, preventing the Holy Light from shining its rays upon you or passing its messages," he said. He looked back down at her, arms crossed behind his back.

Abbendis also turned to meet his gaze, and she feigned ignorance, "A void? Like shadow magic?"

"Indeed," he rumbled gravely. "And now that I am here as the Light's agent, I can better feel this blemish. Like a suffocating web, its tied tightly to your soul and strangling your light from within." His hand reached out to her middle and clenched a fist. Abbendis felt something inside her pull slightly, starting a burst of anxiety.

Westwind pulled his fist back, and she watched as an intricate purple webbing was extracted from her middle at the admiral's command, until his hand shook and the spell vanished like smoke. The sudden lack of tugging sent her stumbling back a step.

Westwind smiled. "There. You see now what had so cleverly been hidden from you. But shadow is never stronger than light, as we've just witnessed. You have been cleansed."

Leaned against the wall, Abbendis struggled to calm her heart and stop her breathless panting. She knew the spell he had removed from her, knew by the designs of the web. That had been Marcarius' protection against the reaching hand of the Nathrezim, and despite the ritual and power of his shield, this man had torn it apart like it was aged parchment. She was vulnerable to him once again.

If that wasn't a cold reminder of the Nathrezim's strength, nothing was.

"I... thank you, Grand Admiral," she forced herself to say, righting herself. "I am unsure how it could even have found its way to me. I will send LeCraft to extract the traitor from the men immediately."

"Swift to action. I'll say, I'm impressed," the man said, smiling kindly. The expression fell though as he brought his hand to his chin, pensively rubbing the trimmed beard. "If I may be so bold though, High General, might I suggest he start with the one called Marcarius. I know he is the head of your personal guard and well-trusted, but there is something in his eyes... A slyness I've seen upon previous traitors and turncoats."

Abbendis cleared her throat, taking slow steps back towards him. There was a whole new fear inside her at his mention of Marcarius. "That is a bold accusation, admiral. That man has saved my life more than any other could rightfully claim. For Marcarius to turn to the shadow..."

A fine line she found herself dancing upon.

Westwind nodded. "It is a sad prospect, I know, but I've seen even the best give into the temptation before the end. In fact, I've already done the liberty of investigating the matter for you." Abbendis felt another cold chill as he produced a tome from a sack at his side. "I found this inside Marcarius' tent, hidden within his bedside nightstand. "A Song of Shadow, Runework and Incantations," it's called. Inside I've found many warlock and necromancer rituals. It is safe to assume the one upon you might be within."

Speechless, Abbendis accepted the book from his offering hand. Of course Marcarius had this book, she had seen it and others like it in his possession, but with the turn of conversation and present secrecy... She opened it to a random page, and sure enough there were notes both in Common and Demonic, with pictures of rituals and dark reagents.

A heavy hand fell upon her shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. "I know that this betrayal might be difficult for you, already in a confusing new land and so far from home. I've also already done the honors of having his apprehension ordered. It seems rumor of his status as warlock had already well-permeated through the men, and they were eager to obey."

XxX

tfw no readers. S-Sorry.

Only one more chapter for this, and after that an epilogue.


	9. Chapter 9

The initial shock staggered Abbendis. She backed away from the Grand Admiral's hand, turning away and unconsciously bringing her hand to her chest. Her panicking mind raced witlessly, jumping to sudden conclusions. All at once though she recalled herself, breaking in her thoughts like a fresh charger.

The Nathrezim did not yet suspect her obliviousness, at least in appearance. She was, for the moment, safe. As for her husband, Westwind only mentioned apprehension – holding, in whatever area Marcarius himself had set up for the task. However, for word of its demonic nature to not spread, Marcarius must be put to silence as soon as possible. Cut out tongue? Death? Spell-hold? Or perhaps Marcarius' ritual proved so spotless that Westwind did not yet assume Marcarius knew, only suspected the eventual possibility.

Jordan also would not permit further action to escalate, especially in their present high priority. The Commander would seize charge of the capture at first hint and wait on her appearance. Pendance, Gendal, and the other paladins, as well as Street, would also refuse to tolerate the Grand Admiral usurpation of her order. He may be on equal authority with the High General, but they knew the truth.

"High General? Are you alright?" floated the kindly voice behind her with concern as convincing as her first dream of "Light" had been. "I hope you aren't offended if I overstepped my bounds. I only felt it was best for swift action for such heresy."

Abbendis hated these games of deceptions and lies, but she was calm enough to dance to its tune. "Just surprised, Grand Admiral." She turned her head back to him, expression stone. "So recent to join us yet so quick to find a rotting rat. Truly, the Light shines upon you. Now, I must see to the matter personally and ensure he received his just punishment for such treason and blasphemy. And thank you for the cleansing."

With her long strides, she stepped past him to the echoing cathedral floor, heading to the exit. She felt a grim satisfaction at remaining steady even when his voice followed her: "I would like to come with you, to see this justice done."

"Stay here," she said without turning. "Retribution strikes quick, and I will soon return. There are matters of the safety of Scarlet Onslaught that we must discuss upon my return."

A heavy silence, but just as she reached the door Westwind mentioned in that deep voice, "How apt."

How apt indeed – how much, the Nathrezim would soon come to rue.

xx

"Well, that certainly didn't take long," was the cheerful remark upon her arrival.

Marcarius hung an inch from touching the ground, stripped of everything, and sported several marks and bruises that spoke of mishandling. That he hadn't shaved that morning added to his haggard appearance, with locks of his now long hair fallen forward over his eye.

Her dagger severed the cords that held him in one sweep, and he fell to the ground hard. She growled, "Get up."

"High General, the book-" one of the guards began to say, but she spun with her dagger pointed at his neck:

"Listen, you ogre-brained halfwit. Of _course_ the Commander had a warlock book in his tent. He's a bloody warlock, and you knew that! If I get one more complaint about the man who's advice single-handedly saved the lives of our people at the Scarlet Enclave – even a _whisper_ – I'll have his head!"

"So lovely having you here," Marcarius quipped and threw his robes over his head. "I see we are past the subtleties." His head peaked out, and he quickly swept his hair back behind his head and away from his eyes. His crystal shoulderguards were thrown on and the buckle done in a second. He was walking with her the moment his boots were on, still struggling with his enchanted cuffs and the sack of rings and trinkets.

Abbendis snorted as they left the tent and he snagged his staff from its place propped at the entrance. She was in no mood for his games or humor. "I learned some time ago to not rely upon others in serious matters. I see now you are no exception."

She expected more cheek from him and prepared herself for a sharp retort, but he sobered: "I shouldn't have submitted, despite their brandished weapons. Too much relies upon this moment, and as you said, much of it is my responsibility."

Maturity. Accountability. Light, she loved this man. "Pendance!"

The paladin dropped his whetstone and stood with his mace and shield. At the double campfire'd outlet, twenty others stood with him in full plate armor and equally personalized weapons. Paladins did not wield standard issue soldier equipment.

Abbendis lead the group back towards the cathedral. Jordan found them on the way, falling in step with Marcarius and Pendance before the ranks of crusaders. A nervous Bishop Street saw the procession but did not hesitate to grab his clergyman staff and join in. He walked with the paladins, knowing his place would be healing.

At the cathedral though, Abbendis found a blockade of at least one hundred men barring them entrance. She saw the strong outline of a man at the door's entrance, with the Archbishop beside him.

"A sad day this is when even the High General has fallen to the shadow," Westwind's deep voice announced, very grim. "The Light which guides me has shown me the dark rituals the warlock Marcarius has performed. Not only has the High General heretic Brigitte Abbendis tolerated such rituals, she has begun to partake in them."

One arm stretched to point directly at her, while Abbendis' teeth bared. "I will not stand to see the light of the Scarlet Onslaught fall under sway of the Shadow! The witch comes baring arms with the minions under her power. By the Light, kill her and let her spirit be cleansed in fire!"

Westwind turned and fled inside the cathedral. The Archbishop piped up, "You heard the Grand Admiral! The Light shines upon you this night! Have at her!" Like a rat, he scurried after the admiral.

Like a great and terrible beast, the hundred men raised their voices in battlecry and made forward. Abbendis felt a hot flash of fury at the treachery and having to fight her own men, and she ripped free her weapon, starting forward with a rallying cry. Those behind her matched her ardor and followed.

Immediately, they tore right through the center of the horde and left their few to fight on both sides. The paladins outmatched these common foot soldiers though and repelled them as easily as waves of ghouls, supported by Steet's flashes of healing spells.

Abbendis refused to wait for them to butcher the barricade, but she needed the support. Fortunately, the Unbreakable Gendal roared from her place in the center of the fight, "GO! We will – handle things here!" Her voice hardly hitched as she shoved back three opponents.

Jordan's hand found Abbendis' shoulder, urging her on, and with a nod in Gendal's direction, she turned and marched up the steps. Marcarius, Jordan, Pendance, and Street stayed with her. Those five entered the maws of the building of Light.

xx

It was dark inside. Only a few candles lit the main isle, with much of the light absorbed in the crimson rug. The sides were dark and filled with the devices the Archbishop took pleasure in when pulling the secrets from a captive. Iron maidens, spiked flails, stretch tables, the saddle... Directly across from them, at the far alter, stood the Archbishop himself and Grand Admiral Barean Westwind.

On their first step, there was a burst of power from beside Abbendis. She barely glanced to see Marcarius there, knowing by feel the ripples of shadow magic. The warlock pulled a scroll from his belt, muttered something low, and tossed it aside. A burst of purple light followed, rising from it the succubus Aelina. The harlot licked her lips in utter bliss as she spotted the happenings, sliding up her master's side.

Fortunately, he showed none of his weakness at releasing the lock. A bobble was tossed aside as an aura of green magic coated his skin and sunk in; red light snapped between him and Aelina, and a second later a blue stone dissolved with its light siphoning into his chest. She honestly had no clue of what his actions did, yet each was surely as important as the spiraling light of a blessing when she took one upon herself.

When they stood across from each other, five and two, the Archbishop bored an intense gaze upon Street. "You forget yourself, bishop. This is your last opportunity to return to the Light. Come up here."

"I will never leave the Light, your holiness," the bishop said with a short salute. He looked up with a frightened but resolute gaze. "But I know things you do not, if you'll listen."

"Yes, take your power from the shadows, weakling," Westwind cut in. "You will still drop like a fly!" His hand fired a bolt of opaque, oily magic towards Street.

Marcarius jumped in front of him, slamming down his staff and conjuring a spiral of intricate shadow magic. The bolt hit the spell, and like a ward it was absorbed. Abbendis realized it was indeed a shadow ward, but like the wards she was familiar with, she felt sure it wasn't something to be used at leisure.

"Hmph!" the disguised Nathrezim grunted. "Archbishop, I will leave the matter in your capable hands."

"Of course, Grand Admiral," the man said, stepping forward confidently. For the first time, Abbendis began to loath the overly liberal use of titles and pomp. Though, she remembered, they weren't rewarded without reason.

A Power Word, Shield, enveloped Sir Pendance as the aged paladin marched up the steps towards the Archbishop. Abbendis was quick to follow, pleased to feel the same protection fall around her, with her axe carried between two hands. The Archbishop gathered a powerful holy spell in his hands and called down a pillar of fire around Pendance. The golden shell popped like a bubble in just a moment, but with his steel shield raised up, Pendance burst free with a loud holler and swung his mace forward vindictively.

There was a loud thwack when metal met Power Word: Shield, and the mace stopped like a hammer against an anvil, shaking the paladin's strong arm. But like an unwavering blacksmith, he only drew back his arm and struck the shield again, then again with methodical purpose. Abbendis reached him too, and with the Light as her strength, smote the shield with her axe and shattered it.

Growling, the Archbishop fired back another relentless flash of Light, sending both Abbendis and Pendance staggering, but then Jordan smoothly slid past with his longsword and stuck the Archbishop in the belly. The wound seemed to heal the same instant the blade was pulled free, and the Archbrishop spoke the Death Word.

Jordan gasped in torment and recoiled back. A misstep sent him off the podium and falling to the floor. A bolt of shadow fired like a crossbow past Abbendis – Marcarius' trademark. She looked to the target, the Grand Admiral, but saw a green shell had exploded around him and completely negated the spell. Her husband muttered with worrying concern, "Ah, shit."

Despite the power of the Archbishop, Abbendis and Pendance were the most powerful paladins the Scarlet Onslaught had. Light met Light in quick bursts, testing faith against discipline, and it quickly became clear whom was most devoted to the Light. Pendance's mace scored a direct blow down upon the Archbishop's head and splattered it like a watermelon.

Jordan, woozy but healed by Street, rejoined them as they faced Westwind together. The green, opaque shell remained in place around him.

Emboldened, Abbendis spat harshly, "You see, despite the foolishness of my youthful zeal, Grand Admiral, the Light doesn't speak, not as plainly as we do now. It guides through impulse and emotion, in strength and protection. That is something that you have taught me, a lesson that will last me ever onward. And that, yea Nathrezim, is only one of your many mistakes!"

At the conclusion of her words, the ground lurched beneath them. It shook and trembled, and with it, bright light of green and purple exploded from around the admiral. Bats flew around the show like flies on a carcass as the shape shifted and bloated in one terrible motion. It ended with large ripples of power outwards, and the green shell expanded to accommodate the new size – standing at something around thirteen feet tall, minus horns.

The Nathrezim had revealed its true form. Much like Aelina, it was purple skinned and horned, standing on cloven feet with the ribbed wings of a bat behind it. Unlike her, it was a hulking monster of muscle, covered in thick green and silver plate armor – even the bone of the enormous wings were protected, and it's hands were four clawed fingers – protected by armguards encrusted with two head-sized orbs that gave of radiant blue and purple light.

The head was a long oval, cleft chinned and eyes of fel green. The only hair was the two tangled bushes like fur sported at the sideburns.

The monster was the first Dreadlord Abbendis had ever encountered. While it wore a loathsome shape, the worst of it was the terror that built inside her bosom, like an aura that sucked the very strength of the Light from her the longer she beheld it. Another fear spawned over the thought that the Light was abandoning her in this thing's presence, and her gritted teeth parted to start panting like a cornered animal.

"Mal'Ganis," a troubled voice addressed. It took Abbendis a long moment to think through the fear enough to recognize it was her husband. More than anything she had ever felt before, this demon before her needed to be entirely obliterated from this world. It was _wrong_ in ways even the Scourge couldn't boast.

"You recognize me, warlock," its deep voice rumbled back, a certain satisfaction lacing through it. "There are certain dangers to knowing ones name... Marcarius."

Abbendis looked to see her husband the least affected, lurking like a specter without any loss of poise. Pendance appeared the grimmest she had ever witnessed from him, and his years shone the most starkly with it. Street had cowered near their back. Using the stronger as an example, even if her fear would not quit, Abbendis straightened and strengthened her resolve.

Dreadlord indeed.

"Enough prattle," she announced, stalking forward. "The Scarlet Onslaught will be puppets of the Dreadlords no longer!"

Her powerful cleave only rebounded from the green shell, with a recoil more sufficient to a Divine Shield than a collapsible Power Word variation. Her next strike, emboldened with all the vengeance of the Light, fared no better. Sir Pendance and Jordan slid beside her and joined in. Mal'ganis performed his first counter-attack: a swarm of bats appeared in a spiral of shadow and buffeted them back, staggering them.

As they pounced upon the shell again, Abbendis noticed – and feared – that they were making no progress on it. A jet of flame splashed over it once, though it seemed less an attack than a probe. As she did her best to parry a claw swipe, Abbendis shouted, "What the hell is this, Marcarius?"

"That's no spell. That shield is a summon!" he returned, calm voice belied by worry.

Abbendis spat, rolling aside and swinging again to no avail. She assumed that it wouldn't dissipate in time then, like her Divine Shield. "Then _un_summon it!"

"I'm working on it."

Feeling a ray of Light fall over her and mend her strain, Abbendis began to spread further out around the Dreadlord, as did Pendance and Jordan. They knew to delay, while the Nathrezim's green eyes narrowed in Marcarius' direction. Shoving aside the heavily armored Pendance like he was a child, he began to stride forward.

In a fit of panic and fury, Abbendis threw herself in his path and charged forward with the blunt side of her axe faced outwards. She met the hard shell, and while its integrity was unyielding, its force wasn't. With wild cheer, she halted Mal'ganis' movement, and with a push sent him back a step. There was an annoyed grunt, just before the heavy claw swatted her aside.

Abbendis felt a sudden surge of trauma and pain as she tumbled across the stone podium, then heaved out a breath as she fell off the ledge with a crash. The world stopped spinning to better emphasize her pain. Gasping, Abbendis tried pulling herself up to see the damage; she knew her armor had been pierced.

The claws left two deep punctures in her side, just below her ribs, and her blood oozed out over her white tabard, coloring it. It was a brilliant scarlet in the cathedral's lighting, though the source appeared a black rend. She covered it with her left hand and stood up, still clutching her axe with her left. She hissed as the wound pulled, then called upon the Light to heal it. With a returning confidence, it answered her call and poured warm, golden relief over her pain, and she knew the wound was healed.

She jogged back up the steps. Atop, however, her eyes found Mal'ganis holding Pendance off the floor in one hand. The aged paladin struggled valiantly, striking with his mace, but he clearly couldn't shake free. Jordan uselessly tried moving the shell, to no avail. With his free hand, the Nathrezim poured a dark, rancid sludge into Pendance, but rather than run over his skin, it seemed to absorb into his body.

Immediately, Pendance roared with such agony, the very walls around them shook. His body tensed up, limbs unbending all at once. As she came closer, Abbendis could see with sickening detail how the man's skin was beginning to melt and bubble, with blackness growing with ominous corruption. A second later though, a Divine Shield slammed down over him and shoved back the shielded Nathrezim.

Pendance fell, not on his feet, and was reluctant to move for a long moment. Street took to healing him, while Abbendis threw herself against the shell yet again, frustration making her wild swings wasteful. Rather than fear when its loathsome eyes turned upon her, she felt only fury and howled it out. Mal'ganis reached for her, but with quick reflexes she rolled aside and lunged her shoulder into him once again.

"Such pests," the monstrous demon growled out. It's languid reactions sharpened abruptly, and he began a hulking run towards Marcarius. The shell crashed into her with all its momentum and threw Abbendis aside like she was a sack of potatoes. Her nose ended up smashed, wiping her mind numb for an indeterminate moment.

She was flat on her stomach when she used the Light to take the pain away, blowing blood out of her nose, and lifted her head to spot the Dreadlord. He was still leaned forward in his full sprint, in the final step to run off the podium and into where she knew Marcarius lurked below. She couldn't spot her husband, but she saw the horned head of Aelina directly in Mal'ganis' path.

The demon threw up her arm with the whip, sending the barbed cord back, and her glowing blue eyes sudden took on a powerful light as a dark aura appeared around the succubus. The whip exploded in contrasting pink and black light as it shot forward. That light hit the opaque green shell in a tremendous show of violence and a sound like a cannon.

Abbendis watched with stunned fascination as the lash not just knocked back Mal'ganis, but sent the Dreadlord off his hooves and into the air. The end of his flight was a slow, surreal crashing of him into the far stone wall of the podium, at the bottom right of the stained glass window. Abbendis felt the impact in the stones beneath her, and she watched the bricks of the far wall shift outward and the glass window crack completely from the movement. Several jagged shards crashed with the sound of water droplets into the stone floor below.

When she could stand finally, Abbendis found the Dreadlord was just beginning to clear his daze. His hand was against his head, and the expression was appropriately shocked by what had happened. In the hierarchy of demons as Abbendis knew it, succubi were far inferior to Dreadlords, including in matters of strength.

As she limped forward towards it, unable to feel the axe in her hand but confident in its weight, Mal'ganis spotted Marcarius and narrowed his gaze. Without even standing, it gathered more shadow shadow magic in its hand, licked with green flames, and then growled as it threw the spell forward – shaped like a meteor thrice the size of their cannonballs.

"Master!" Aelina shrieked, throwing her arms wide as if to accept the spell fully. There wasn't a thought – yet all the right reason – as Abbendis prayed to the Light to shield that succubus, knowing the forbearance of calling upon its intervention.

The golden shield enveloped her just in time to entirely negate the powerful spell. Aelina looked stunned at the Light around her, her lush lips parted in surprise on her pretty face. Abbendis snorted when the blue eyes found her and lowered her hand from Aelina's direction. She hadn't a care in the world for the succubus, but by the horror of her reaction and selfless body shield, Abbendis had known on instinct the deadliness of if it had it struck Marcarius. She had been saving his life.

The frustration was finally mutual, Abbendis noticed with dry humor. Mal'ganis stood with a terrible roar, calling upon more magic. Pendance and his shield, protected by Street's Power Words, diverted the next, but rather than give into its fury, the intelligent demon sent a coldly calculating look in their healer's direction. Abbendis rushed to stand between them, but when the green light left Mal'ganis' hand, no visible spell followed.

She whipped her head back to check on Street, seeing the bishop resolute now and intent on their fight – staff clutched tight between his hands. She also saw Marcarius kneeled in a hasty makeshift warlock ritual circle of candles. He was drawing runes of purple with his fingers, constantly checking back up on the Nathrezim. Every inch of his concentration was drawn into his work and thoughts.

A third figure instantly caught her attention, though not with immediate fear. The crimson robes of Scarlet clergymen also lured her into that false sense of security. She checked the face and turned back to Mal'ganis, glad that the Archbishop had joined them in this fight with Street. Scourge-driven reflexes had her body moving before her eyes returned to the scene.

"Street!" she yelled in warning.

The man was too slow though, looking at her with confusion. He seemed to recognize her intent and quickly turned around, staff coming up. She watched with horror as the resurrected Archbishop drove his dagger down through Street's chest, right into his heart. Street gasped, slumping backwards yet stopped from falling by the dagger in him. His shaking hands dropped his staff and clutched at the knife, but the Archbishop bore his teeth and kicked the bishop off his blade.

Abbendis closed her eyes between one step and the next. Time slowed for her as she opened her link between the girl Brigtte Abbendis and the Light, exposed in all her vulnerabilities and past deeds, judged most fairly always, and prayed with passion – yet calm words – for the Light to protect its own and heal the bishop.

Despite the slowness of what she perceived, it took only a second for her, and she opened her eyes to saw at least a flash of Light shine over Street. It would be to no avail if he was already dead, but if even a part of him still lived, he now stood a chance of staying that way.

Abbendis found another buffeting flurry of bats striking her back and clouding her vision before her as she ran, but she did not stumble as she drew back her axe and swung it forward with all her retribution behind it. The newly undead Archbishop cried out as she cleaved him in half – his repaired face still drenched in the blood of his death – and a moment later the vengeful Light consumed his body in a great immolation.

Heaving her breaths out now, she turned to face the Dreadlord yet again. Pendance and Jordan were staggered as it stomped down, thrusting its arms up with yet more power built up for terrible release. The monster roared, "This ends _now!"_

"Indeed it does!" Marcarius declared.

All at once, the runes he had drawn flared up with brilliant light, and they peeled from the floor to raise into the air. Slowly, the whole pattern began to spiral around him, separating from its flatness to a three-dimensional shell, until all the segments began to compress together and consolidate towards Marcarius' right arm.

He stood, emblazoned by the shining magic, and he faced Mal'ganis with his powerful spell already gathered, also bathed in its light. Dark shadow magic with the bright veins of fel green opposed the brilliant pinkish-purple of what she assumed was summoning magic. The spectacle of the standstill lasted for only one tense moment, as both demon and warlock struck with their spells.

In the awe of the moment, Abbendis expected a titanic clash of spells in some tremendous explosion where only the more powerful's would push through to victory. Instead, they passed by without harm. She cried out furious victory as Marcarius' spell touched the impenetrable green shell, and they both vanished instantly.

However, another voice drowned out hers with a higher pitch, screaming worry and fear mixed with the rumbling fury of the Dreadlord's attack. It came from behind her, where Marcarius had been, and she spun with horror. It wasn't a charred corpse she found there though; no, only half of one.

She found Aelina blathering like a professional mourner as she carefully unraveled a rope from Marcarius' middle. Her heart took a sudden bolt when she saw that rather than a rope, it was the succubus' barbed whip; she was trying to extract the spikes with as little harm as possible, despite the oozing blood from the side of him that was still recognizably human.

It became clear that his succubus had looped her master like a wrangler and tried pulling him away from the path of the spell, but she had only partially succeeded. The blackened damage eased further away from his left arm, but the limb itself was reduced to a melted, disfigured bony thing – that snapped off suddenly when the next barb was removed.

Abbendis couldn't fathom that the thing that fell to the ground was once Marcarius' left hand. She looked past it, to her husband, and he appeared so calm the whole thing could have been a play's special effect. He too was looking at the black thing on the ground with blank eyes, until he winced as another barb was pulled free and met her eyes.

Something of her fear must have been showing, for his eyes widened as if everything was suddenly made clear to him.

Aelina threw her whip aside as it was finally clear, and she sent a wild look Abbendis' way. "Heal him, damn you! Heal him now!"

Numbly, Abbendis made her request to the Light, and she almost didn't notice the responding flash. She found her axe lying on the ground and remembered the Nathrezim they were supposed to be fighting. She bent to pick it up and turned to see Jordan and Pendance well into the struggle. Experience took over, despite the lack of coherent thought, and she began to trot back to the fight.

While the shell was gone, Abbendis quickly noticed that even a clean, powerful hit did barely anything to the armored Dreadlord. The armor was too thick, and its enchantments powerful. Only Pendance with his shield was able to properly take its attacks, including even the deadly spells, but more than once Abbendis found herself backing up to heal her paladin friend.

In a startling display of heroism, Jordan managed to get behind Mal'ganis and hack away the plates of his legs until he hamstrung the Dreadlord. The demon roared and fell to a knee, but then drove its claws through Jordan's armor in gruesome impaling as it swatted him aside. Abbendis quickly prayed for the Light to heal the worst of it, but Jordan wasn't able to continue the fight.

Shocks of holy magic, the vindictive Hammer of Justice, and every other paladin ability was utilized and sent into the Dreadlord, but while Mal'ganis grew wounded, Abbendis found herself at the point of being too exhausted to keep channeling the Light through her. Pendance fared better, but one could only do so much.

She found herself having to wait to recover enough to heal Pendance. At one such moment, finally begging off and panting with fatigue, she healed him but found herself waiting to reengage due to the wash of exhaustion that followed. As she stood there, feeling nauseous enough to vomit, she noticed the quiet sound of footsteps behind her and barely turned her head to look.

Jordan and her husband stood leaning against each other. It was a pathetic spectacle, watching them try to walk, but both men were resolute and determined. Upon reaching her, Marcarius showed a blue crystal that he was holding. She watched him crush it against her shoulderplate and saw the blue dust and a wispy trail slowly sink into her body. With it, all of her channeling-fatigue seemed to diminish.

The two men limped onward, and Marcarius produced a green orb from his pocket. As the gasping Pendance was knocked back again, Jordan released Marcarius to stop the paladin from falling, and Marcarius did a similar thing with the green orb, letting its energy sink into Pendance. She watched how his wounds instantly seemed to heal, and the paladin roared cheer as he jumped back into the fight.

Mal'ganis barely noticed the reengagement. He looked at the two wounded commanders with his lip curling upward. "Fools." Shadow power built up in his hand, likely some wave that would take them both out, but as Abbendis ran back in to try and distract him, her attention was dragged to the shape leaping from the ground behind the Dreadlord.

Aelina, with her small wings, managed to get high enough to land near Mal'ganis' shoulders, and she garroted him with her whip with a strong tug, cutting off suddenly the spell. He stumbled back a step as she reared back, and Abbendis saw how Aelina planted her hooves against the shoulders for more pulling force. A strangle choke was spat past the Nathrezim's lips.

With a wild cry, Abbendis jumped beside Pendance and attacked while Mal'ganis was distracted, but even as she split an armor plate apart, they still did not make enough headway on him. Behind her, she could hear Jordan ask, "Will we win here? Without Street?"

"We'll damn well try," was her exhausted husband's reply.

But the Dreadlord managed to grab one of Aelina's arms, and he threw her off him and into Abbendis. Despite the succubus' skinny form and light weight, the force knocked her clean off her feet in a tangle of limbs. Dazed, she took her strength from the light and stumbled back to her feet. She saw Mal'ganis bash Pendance's shield, not even phasing the old paladin, but then a second swipe from the side sent him crashing into the stone wall, finally shattering the stained glass window and spilling its jagged shards on him.

With a purr of pleasure, the Dreadlord sent a black wave of shadow towards the wounded commanders. Aelina tried to take the attack, but she only dissolved into dust from it just before the two men were struck and sent tumbling back, unable to rise. A terrible pulse of resonance passed through Abbendis, and a feeling like a link to something precious was severed.

She couldn't explain how she knew, but Abbendis realized that with that attack, Marcarius had died.

Pendance stumbled towards the Dreadlord, but try as she might to help, Mal'ganis grabbed his very soul and ripped it from the exhausted man – he didn't have the strength to hold on to it any longer. His lifeless body fell onto the bloodied stones.

Abbendis found she couldn't even must a valiant final stand against the Nathrezim, standing alone now with everyone that mattered to her dead. She recalled the nights with her husband, their words and love, and most painful was the bold reassurances that they would get through this just fine.

As a final ironic injustice, the Nathrezim ripped her head off her shoulders – just like she promised it wouldn't.

xx

AN: Whoops, I forgot I like to do this. There is one more chapter after this, THEN the epilogue.


	10. Chapter 10

_anon: Balnazzar in vanilla and Mal'ganis in heroic Culling of Stratholme._

xx

Being dead was a surreal experience, Abbendis found. She could perceive the world around her in a colorless mix of greys, though it wasn't with eyes that she looked. She was still confined to her body – in a strangely disconnected way that was further befuddled by her head being a good six meters from the shoulders.

But like hanging from a cliff by mere fingertips, Abbendis found herself on the verge of being able to release herself from her body – by just letting go. With the patience of the dead though, she further studied her state. There was a blazing warmness – something different from the Light, like the warmth of the Living – burning from near her husband's corpse. Though unable to explain it, she felt sure that his spirit remained with his body like hers did now.

From the Heavens above, an angel descended. Had she been breathing, Abbendis' breath might have hitched at the sight of the angelic being – with her colorless skin and wispy white robes. Those glowing eyes of white were filled with compassion as she surveyed their bodies in the colorless world.

"Should you wish it," the angel's soft, lovely voice touched them in the experience, "I will guide you to where you can rest."

Abbendis didn't answer the summon though as something else itched her conscious. The warmth from near Marcarius' corpse. Something, something... A purple orb.

The soulstone.

At the recollection, a power came under her grasp. The warmth was her own soul, alive with magic inside that purple orb. If she wished, she could command that energy to her body, and if what Marcarius had said was true, she would recover enough to be alive once again. And if she lived, she had the power to command the Light to return Marcarius' body to life.

At least, she could, had Mal'ganis not been standing between them with that coldly calculating look in his eye as he waited. If she tried resurrecting, he would kill her again in a heartbeat. It was a terrible suspense for her, able yet unable, and all the while the idea of rest and following the angel grew ever more tempting.

She faintly recalled that Marcarius had remained in this state for days before using the soulstone. How he could muster the willpower seemed well beyond her.

But as she sat there, barely clinging onto her body in wait, her colorless perception noticed movement near the entrance of the cathedral. Mal'ganis spun, lip curling, and power returned to his hands at once. Abbendis could see a faint net of purple lines of his skin and assumed him unable to summon the green shell again.

Faint cries and shouts echoed in her death world, the voices of another world. Abbendis saw Gendal, aged yet still beautiful, as she lead the charge of less than a dozen remaining paladins. Unbreakable Gendal, she was called, with a shield that was rumored to never have faltered in all her years. Abbendis remained disconnected as she watched the paladins swarm around the Dreadlord, slashing and bashing, while Gendal engaged Mal'ganis head on. Holy Light blazed through the battle, and even in the spirit world, the Light remained golden.

"There is always hope," the angel reminded finally, without even glancing towards the battle. Without another word, her wings gently began to take her upwards, ascending back to the Heavens.

The angel seemed to know Abbendis choice before she did. With a noiseless laugh, Abbendis cast her attention to the warm soulstone, commanding its power. It was unfamiliar, but apparently there was only once way it would activate. At her touch, it immediately moved to her, spreading its warmth over her body and spirit, and she felt her head return to her shoulders with a fulfilling rush of completeness.

She opened her eyes to the final traces of bright blue light, landing on her two feet. At the same instant Abbendis felt her heart beating again, she found herself still not far from death. She was on her last leg, weak from lack of blood, and her axe much too heavy for her to carry again. Before she could fall over though, one of the paladins saw her resurrection and roared cheer, casting a flash of Light over her.

Instantly, Abbendis felt her wounds vanish and her life replenish. With her eyes bright with fire and passion, she scooped up her axe and ran to join the fight.

Mal'ganis was clearly in his final moment as they swarmed him on all sides. Thick Nathrezim blood was splashed around them, and his armor was a dented, tattered mess. One of his eyes poured ichor at its loss. Viciously, Abbendis found herself jumping with her axe high, and she threw all her strength in the downward thrust – and in a swing blazing with Light and fire, she severed one of his massive wings from his back.

There was a pained shriek unlike any before. All the paladins stopped to cover their ears, backing up several steps in fear. Mal'ganis stumbled and flailed around for a long moment, shrieking while his new stump gushed blood. Grimly, Abbendis tried to move forward and finish it, but he roared something and cast a quick spell.

A large portal began to split open in the air, turning upon itself as it widened. Growling around his ragged panting, Mal'ganis vowed, "This... isn't... over."

Realizing he meant to escape, the paladins made forward, shouting angrily, but Mal'ganis pushed though their their blasts of holy shock and ran through the portal. It closed before any could think to follow, leaving them all alone.

Standing there, panting in rage and exhaustion, it took a long moment for Abbendis to realize it was over. When she did, figuring out that he wouldn't be coming back, she turned and quickly made for Marcarius' corpse, pushing past the celebrating men and women that had fought with her.

One was carrying a bleary and delirious Street in his arms, while two were busy trying to redeem Jordan and Pendance. At her Marcarius' body though, she found Gendal and Fulner already kneeled, with worrisome looks on their faces. She forced them aside, beholding again the ruined body of her once strong, beautiful husband.

"He is... beyond our usual redemption," Gendal said, looking at Abbendis. "This warlock has forever altered my view on this world, High General. He has died the most honorable of deaths. I propose we raise a monument in his name and memory, to forever last with the heroes of the Scarlet Crusade and Onslaught."

"No," Abbendis argued, voice shaking. "No! He's not too lost. I'll... I'll use my spirit to bring him back. Sacrifice can do what prayer cannot." Startlingly, she felt the burn of tears in her eyes and a wetness on her face. She hadn't cried since her father's death, and even then not publicly.

The two paladins were silent as they studied her. Gendal sat back on her heels, with her hand on her knee. With the cutting wisdom of the aged, she guessed, "In the end, you came to love this man, didn't you? Brigitte Abbendis!"

Wordlessly, Brigitte reached into her breastplate and yanked out the necklace her ring was looped to. She couldn't think of what to say with it, so she only held it up for them. The blond's eyes widened at it, but she grew a slow smile, nodding.

Fulner sighed. "Well then, can't be helped. Ease yourself, High General... Brigitte. I'll bring your husband back."

"No," Brigitte argued. "I can't ask you to die for him. I'll-"

"Hush, child," Fulner said, and for the first time she noticed the age on his face as the area beside his eyes wrinkled with his smile. "This was a long time coming. He once died in my stead; I am only repaying the debt."

With the solid strength she was known for, Gendal took Brigitte back with an arm over her shoulder and pulled them away from Fulner and Marcarius' charred corpse. With a nod to Gendal and Brigitte, Fulner turned his attention upon Marcarius. After a slow moment, golden light began to envelope the two, first very transparent, but with growing color. Soon, it was so complete she saw only two silhouettes, and then the Light intensified, becoming a white light so bright the two paladins had to look away.

Finally, there came the sound of a successful redemption, and the bright glow vanished. Brigitte looked back quickly. Fulner had vanished completely, leaving behind not even a body or his armor. Marcarius, though... Marcarius, her husband, was full and fresh, with his skin glowing in healthy color. His chest rose and fell even though his eyes did not open.

Crying out, Brigitte ran forward to him, gathering him in her arms. She held his head to her breast, rocking him tenderly as if he were a newborn, and as she did, she noticed that even his left hand was renewed. The tears spilled over again, and she prayed thanks to Fulner for his sacrifice. She asked the Light to watch over the kindly paladin for the eternity to come.

xx

The mess within the cathedral was cleared away, with the wounded including Marcarius taken to the hospital. Immediately, Abbendis' council swarmed around her, demanding answers over the Grand Admiral's disappearance, the Archbishop's death, and the rumors of her turn to shadow. The teams of personal guards grew tense with suspicion, looking about to explode into violence at the twitch of a finger.

Still fighting the daze from the fiasco, Abbendis also called up the officers so they could spread word of the event to the men. With everyone gathered, she calmly gave a speech about the truth of Barean Westwind and the Dreadlord, the poisoned that had seduced the Archbishop behind it, and why one hundred of their comrades were now dead. So familiar with the role, she still managed to keep it inspirational and list each involved as heroes by name.

Despite, or perhaps because of, the recent rumors of Marcarius, she made sure to leave a special emphasis on him for his actions. She paralleled a true warlock's purpose against the Burning Legion to theirs with the Scourge. The hardheaded and fool-hearted would always despise him, but she trusted her men with reason enough to better understand Marcarius.

While continued war and conflict couldn't be further from her wants at the moment, she reassured everyone that their vengeance against the Lich King would not be slowed or diverted because of this, and that now without distraction, they were more devoted than ever. She even passed the news that the traitor prince had come to Northrend before their fleets, fleeing after suffering terrible wounds at Light's Hope Chapel.

He was not invincible. Their families were still alive.

She ended the speech there and left everyone to the following excited buzz. Though her guard was now tight with suspicion and protection, especially with the lack of their head, Abbendis paid them no mind as she wandered over to the infirmary. Street had fallen into a deep sleep, but a dreadfully weak Pendance managed a few words with her before she left him in peace. Commander Jordan saluted from his bed, knowing already the whole hospital drill from experience.

She pulled up a chair for the final new occupant. Marcarius had yet to wake, but the priests assured her that he was completely without wound or harm and just needed the energy to come back fully. He could sleep for several days, they said; it depended on the speed of his recuperation. Even now though, his skin was flush with healthy color, and his breathing was no different than when he usually slept. It was almost as if she could just shake him awake with a touch.

After an hour of thinking and mindless watching, she rose and left the tent, returning to her home. Between the recent events, the fight, the deaths, she found sleep impossible to come by and simply lied awake. Her bottle of rum was the usual companion for such nights, but the thought never even occurred to her as she lay.

They were alive. The horrors of that fight, her death, the Nathrezim... It would remain with her forever. She didn't know how Marcarius, after facing such once before and knowing what he awaited him, could so calmly walk back into it. However, she knew that if another one of the monstrosities threatened the Scarlet Onslaught – threatened her people – she wouldn't hesitate either to send it to oblivion. Would not hesitate, but Light, she would be petrified.

Remembering suddenly the similar words from her husband just beforehand, she found herself laughing in the empty room. That man... Her hand sought the necklace she wore and the two rings that hung from it. She touched her familiar band, then found the thick, wide one that was her husband's. Before leaving the cathedral, she had found the gold band lying atop the black pile of ash that had once been his left hand, before Fulner's sacrifice restored it.

She remembered everything, every detail and every sacrifice, and before even realizing it, she found herself pulling herself from her bed to kneel on the floor. Clad in just her shift and so vulnerable, she opened a prayer to the Light. Unlike her usual ones for strength and guidance, it was of simple thanks – to the Light, to Fulner, to everyone that had been involved with the events of the last week.

Most startlingly was when she closed it, she was left feeling more satisfied than any other before it.

xx

She noticed him before he reached her, though she didn't turn her attention away from the men pulling their ballista and cannons up the wall's ramps by thick rope and manpower. He stopped beside her, and despite herself, a thrum of excitement built inside her, until she found herself just barely keeping off a smile.

"How long was I out for?" her husband asked, standing on his own power – though his staff was a large contributor there.

"Two days," she replied. The rope snapped abruptly, threatening to crush the men behind the siege weapon, but miraculously, one man swiftly discarded the dead end and dove forward to grab the stub. His lone might was enough to hold the whole weapon up before the rest crowded around and assisted. One man tied a new rope, and several others came to make sure it reached the top safely.

After the short show, Marcarius hummed and asked, "Are you alright?"

Unable to prevent it, Abbendis laughed out loud, and she turned to him with her eyes twinkling. "You damned, chauvinistic man. You are out cold in a bed for two days after dying, and you just come up to me asking if _I'm_ alright."

A small smile passed his lips, and in the brief moment his eyes met hers, she saw the full extent of his love and care. Only an instant, but she saw it all. Facing the men again, he explained, "I wasn't alone in that though, and you lack the certain... experience that I have of it. Yea, even more I know exactly what you've underwent since. Have you even slept since?"

Reason and passion. She smiled at her old analogy. "I will, now that you're up again. I can't afford to let some lowly, unrelated demon interfere with our conquest through Northrend. Too much important work to be done. I hear the Alliance and Horde are come en masse, with faster ships than ours."

She watched a grimace pace over his face, like a child being told of the day's chores. "Ah yes, that. I think I'll be retiring after recent events, from the direct fighting at least."

"Time alone with just your books?" she guessed mockingly, then snorted and crossed her arms. "If I'm not allowed to just call quits and settle down, then neither are you. You will remain the head of my personal guard and diplomat for foreign relations with the indigenous."

"Bummer," he sighed.

Abbendis glanced at him and her lip turned up in a half smile. "Don't worry though, Diplomat. I'll make it worth your while."

He looked over at the smokey promise, a surprised smile of his own. After a moment, he rubbed his freshly shaven chin. "Diplomat. I still prefer the title commander, even after it was stripped."

"That would mean you report to me then," a voice behind them intruded, and both jumped at being heard before looking back. It was only Jordan though; the man knew enough to have already pieced together their relationship. "The High Commander, and I'm sure the High General wants you to herself."

The two men clasped arms in friendly gesture, and Jordan gave her a proper salute. After the greetings, Marcarius noted, "High Commander now. You were promoted." He raised an eyebrow. "In my day, men were given metals for dying, not promotions. I guess the Scarlet Onslaught does things differently."

Jordan smiled in good-nature at the slight, hands going behind his back as he also watched the events on the wall. Abbendis, having made the decision and performing the ceremony, said, "It was a long time coming. He had been in line to replace Galvar Pureblood, but after recent events I felt it wasn't worth waiting. We are the Onslaught now."

The last cannon began its labor-intensive jaunt up the ramp to the wall. Jordan turned to glance at her and Marcarius. "Forgive me if I overstep, but what is the real relationship between the High General and the head of her guard. I'm not one for the rumors, but..."

Abbendis smiled disarmingly and reached under her tabard to pull free her necklace. The man's eyebrows rose at the sight of the two rings. "Married? When, and how did you keep it secret?"

"Street did it, on the voyage over." Rather than hand over Marcarius' ring, she tucked the necklace back away.

The warlock made a sound. "Well, we _were_ married, until just recently."

Eyes suddenly narrowed, Abbendis asked testily, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I wasn't aware the High General believed in divorce," Jordan mentioned lightly.

Her husband only smiled in the slightly smug, arrogant way of his when he felt he was being clever. "I never did like that condition "till death do us part." Can't be helped though. We're just going to need to marry again. Perhaps a public ceremony this time?"

Abbendis nearly slapped him.

xx

AN: Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: So here we are at the end, with Abbendis still alive. Honestly though, we just went through a whole little story, so what changes were actually made in WoW lore besides her still living? This chapter is meant to answer that question, to give a real view at the difference made.

* * *

In time, New Hearthglen was built up into a proper stronghold, and the Alliance and Horde began to arrive as Westwind had once said, before his quick demise. Marcarius wasted no time in going out to meet them with a white flag, and though Abbendis was loath to allow it, he made apologies on behalf of the Crusade and requested to be treated much like the Argent Dawn – as an independent, neutral faction poised directly at the Scourge.

It would leave them left alone though, he promised. Of course, it didn't prevent both an Alliance and a Horde ambassador residing with them directly to oversee no 'overambitious action that might hinder the progress of their faction.' Yet before long, Marcarius had secured the word of the Wyrmrest Accord dragons to let them exist peacefully so long as they didn't interfere with their business.

The events of Wrathgate came with great outrage as the Forsaken betrayed them, exactly as the Scarlet Onslaught always believed. It wasn't just her that Marcarius was left to answer to. The very men seethed with betrayal over the cohorts that had been lost at the gate. Her husband promised answers before he left directly to the Horde camps.

He returned several weeks later with news: Sylvanas' pet Dreadlord had split the faction in two. Abbendis argued best she could against all undead, but he was unrelenting in his believe that with Varimathras banished and Sylvanas again in full control of her people, they were stalwart allies. The undead were, of course, her former kin of Lordaeron. While neither she nor her people gave into his words and beliefs, she reluctantly allowed them to continue neutrality to the Horde's undead.

With the coming of the new Argent Crusade, under Tiron Fordring and the purified Ashbringer, the Scarlet Onslaught all but dissolved as it immediately fell behind Tiron's banner. He met Abbendis personally, the age old friend, and she saw in him the fire of retribution that burned in all of them. And while he wielded the Ashbringer, she would follow his command.

Together, the Argent Crusade and Scarlet Onslaught pushed up through Northrend and Icecrown Glacier, suffering the expected heavy casualties, and managed to secure themselves bases and strongholds to strike from, even directly on the Lich King's doorstep. Just before the final push, Tirion argued his case for forming the Argent Tournament to select champions that could raid the citadel without becoming lost and new enemies in the attempt. Abbendis had been a stanch enemy of his plan, saying they should continue scouring the Scourgelands to weaken the Lich King's rule and power before then.

Despite the grudging of both the Alliance and the Horde though, they along with Jaina Proudmoore agreed to the plan. Abbendis found her support in the Knights of the Ebon Blade, but neither she nor her men trusted the former Scourge Death Knights. Too much of their blood had stained those Saronite blades to ever stand side-by-side.

Again though, her husband met them and managed to form plans between them. The Knights would attack certain Scourge points and the Onslaught others, to work separately but for the same goal. Tirion had his little tournament, but without him, they managed to raze Ymirheim, the Cathedral of Darkness, the Fleshworks, and even claimed all three remaining gates in their respective names.

While they still sieged the western vrykul city of Jotunheim, using their naturally-defended forward base at the Onslaught Harbor, Tirion took his champions and began his assault on Icecrown Citadel. When they gained purchase inside, they entered without Abbendis' men or support, but with the vrykul now completely scattered and their armies in shambles, she fortified the rear defense, knowing better than to leap inside the citadel blind. The last thing the Ashbringer needed was her or her men raised as Death Knight champions to bar his way.

It was a tense string of days as they waited for news from within. There was horror at the open aerial battle of gunships, done so foolishly, and occasionally their flying scouts spotted the raid emerging still strong to outer ramparts and facing untold monstrosities. The shining Ashbringer lit the way.

Marcarius remained at her side always, whether she was praying or leading the battles. Under his command, her guard kept her safe, both through war and the late night assassins, and they were still together during the stressful wait on Tirion. The only relief came when the fresh-from-training Death Knights from the incomplete Malykriss tried ambushing them at the citadel entrance. The Scarlet Onslaught relished the chance to do _something_, and the inexperienced Scourge knights made easy clean up, despite their gifted power.

The day came finally when one scout found the Ashbringer emerging on the final tower, before the Frozen Throne and the Lich King himself. Word buzzed from everyone in the final showdown. However, any further attempt to view the battle was shut out as patrolling Scourge took to eliminating their fliers. Even Marcarius' floating eye was destroyed before it could reach them.

For hours, their spyglasses remained trained to the citadel's tower. Demonstrations of spells, magic, and Light flashed occasionally, with no clear sign of victory or defeat. After the final burst of Light and the following explosion of darkness, no further signs revealed themselves. Against her wishes, Marcarius took a gryphon and chose himself as the one who would discover the conclusion.

He disappeared atop the tower. For several long minutes he remained out of sight, though Aelina continued to reassure her that he still lived. Eventually, the familiar snowy gryphon appeared from the towertop and flew back with eager speed. Abbendis didn't allow herself to feel relief until she confirmed Marcarius was atop it with her own eyes.

Everyone crowded around him at his landing, demanding to know the truth. Abbendis stood at the front of them, waiting. Still mounted atop the dancing bird and dressed in the spotless tabard of white and crimson, Marcarius held himself proudly as he held up his hand and uncurled his fingers, revealing to everyone a metal fragment of dark grey and glowing blue.

A shard of the Lich King's sword. Frostmourne was broken.

A thousand voices raised in earth-shaking cheer. After so many years, so many tragedies, so much death, loss, and fighting... The traitor prince was brought to justice. Lordaeron was avenged. Their fight... _her_ fight... was over.

Abbendis' head bowed as the tears spilled over.

xx

"Come on, the ball won't kick itself."

Brigitte leaned against the wooden frame as she watched her husband pull their hay play ball back with his foot just as Damion tried kicking it. The boy stumbled but didn't fall this time, and he jumped after him with his usual robust. Marcarius rolled it away again and again, still surprisingly agile in their complacent life.

Finally, the boy grew too frustrated, and he cried, "Dad! This is no fair!"

"Fair?" Marcarius asked, stopping with his foot atop the ball and his hands going to his hips while he stared. "Too much of your mother in you, I'd s..."

Brigitte watched as, while he spoke, Damion suddenly struck in the moment and kicked the ball out from under him. The kick was true, and the ball passed right over the rope boundary they had set for a 'goal.' With a loud hoot and holler, Damion ran around with his arms out, celebrating his victory over his still speechless father.

Too much of _her_, he said?

Shaking her head at their antics, Brigitte covered her laugh and shouted, "Come on in, boys! Dinner is ready."

While Damion still ran about in his victory, Marcarius stooped to pick him up, and their son cheered as he was lifted up onto Marcarius' shoulders. She felt the same warm feeling as her husband's eyes passed over to her and he smiled. As he approached, he asked, "How's the little terror? Aunty Aelina grown any grey hairs yet?"

"She's run out of answers," Brigitte told him, holding their wood door open as he carefully stepped in with Damion still on his shoulders. "It's time for the unstoppable wit to meet the immovable inquisitor."

As the door closed behind her, Marcarius suddenly leaned over and kissed her lips, and she smiled against him, especially when Damion exclaimed, "Ew!"

As they went to the dining room together, he lifted the five-year-old from his shoulders to sit him in his chair, and he muttered, "I swear, Bethany Sindrea Abbendis won't be satisfied until every secret of the universe is in her hands."

At the sound of his voice, the twin-tailed brunette looked up with her eager eyes. "Papa! If Draenor was round but now flat, what happens if you jump off the side?"

Three years old and persistent to the point of asking questions even as she fell asleep. At the subject, Marcarius directed a dry look at the now matronly succubus. The demon gave a weak shrug and said, "We started on mean old ogres. Don't ask."

Brigitte smiled and went to the cooling pot of stew and the spit of chickens, preparing their dishes while he sat down, thoughtful. She listened as he began the long fight. "They say the long fall ends only in the Twisting Nether."

"Who's "they"?" Bethany asked.

"Scholars more astute than myself."

"What's astute mean?"

Brigitte caught his wink in her direction as he said, "That you stub your nose in a book until all your hair is grey."

"Why would they do that?"

"To be clever enough to answer the questions of little girls."

Oblivious to the reference, Bethany continued, "Papa, what's in the Twisting Nether?"

It was a question to be answered with caution, but Brigitte knew her husband. She was already on the verge of laughing as he answered flatly, "Aunty Aelina's grandparents."

The succubus choked on her drink at the response, while Bethany pressed, "Why would they live there? Isn't it dark and icky there?"

"They like dark and icky."

"Why?"

"Same reason you like a warm bed."

She paused, thinking with that woefully quick mind, then asked, "So are my cousins are with Grandpa and Grandma Aelina?"

As she was finally sitting with the food distributed, Brigitte found herself laughing out loud with Marcarius. Aelina buried her face in her hand.

xx

When Brigitte finally retired to bed that night, she paused at the bedroom door, finding Marcarius kneeled before the chest they always kept locked. A cold feeling crept into her heart as she remembered old words and agreements, especially when she saw the glowing, crystal shoulder he had worn so long ago.

With one hand dropping to her suddenly sick stomach, she asked quietly, "What are you doing?"

"A messenger came to me today, when I was out in the fields. Wanted to tell be about a 'Deathwing,'" he said, voice low and thoughtful.

"Does that name mean something to you?" she asked.

"It means a lot to me. But he's supposed to be dead. It was confirmed that his corpse fell into the maelstrom whirlpool."

Taking a deep breath, she asked the important question, "Is it our fight?"

"No one knows yet, but I've got a bad suspicion about old gods. Either way, the Legion is sure to move during the distraction." He lifted a heavy axe from the chest and turned to her, a faint smile on his lips. "Can you still pick this up to follow me?"

Her axe, from when she was High General. Brigitte hadn't carried the burden of armor since before childbirth, when her belly was too round for it. At the reminder, she closed her eyes, heart aching. "Marcarius, you know I can't. We have Damion and Bethany now – our kids. If you must go... if you must, I will make sure they never forget their father in your absence, but..."

He set the axe back inside the chest and leaned back. "We finally have our cabin in the woods, Brigitte. Hearthglen is just a few miles away, but we are left alone in your reclaimed Plaguelands. I know my words then, but now that I'm here, with you and the kids, in the life we fought for and built after... I just... can't seem to leave, not without you."

"Then stay," she urged, stepping into the room now and kneeling down with him. Her arm came around his broad back. "The world doesn't need old vets like us anyways. Let the new generations fight for their world. You did your part in saving the Scarlet Crusade."

He huffed a laugh. "Temptress."

Tense with anxiety, Brigitte still managed to smile and say, "Stay here, and I promise that in less than two years, I'll have you fat with my cooking. We'll start Damion's schooling, likely Bethany will want to join in to bother us to tears with questions, and we'll watch together as they grow into a fine young man and woman who will go to start their own lives."

He said nothing right away, torn between her and his duty. Light, how she hated making him choose in such a way, but like him, she couldn't bear to see them part, now that they faced the decision. She hadn't even noticed that in the moment, their hands had come together and fingers laced until he squeezed her once.

His shoulders slumped though, and she watched as he slowly lowered the lid of the chest and picked up the lock. Still he hesitated, staring at their strong lock, so she took it from him and slowly, just waiting to hear an argument, slipped it back on and closed it. At the click, they both seemed to lose all their tension, like the snip of a rope.

He was first to stand, and with an offered hand he lifted her back to her feet. Quickly, Brigitte took him in her arms, embracing him tightly, and when his returned it, their lips met. Once they drew back, he had a tired smile on his face. "Make it a year and a half, and we'll have a deal."

Brigitte laughed and sealed it with another kiss. Their story was over, after so much conflict and their parts in the historical events – to be carried on by all the younger, fresher men and women of the world.

Their story was finally over.

The End.

* * *

AN: And that's game, folks. Thus ends Abbendis. I do hope everyone enjoyed. Final stats appear to be 40k words, with a count of 150 active readers by the end. I'd like to give a special thanks everyone that reviewed, few that you are.

I'd also like to thank the folks at Pick Up Stix, strangely, for putting up with me as I wrote out 95 percent of this thing there.

The following are the story notes I kept at the bottom of the document at all times, which are really just names for this one. Upper is in-game names, bottom is OC's and Abbendis herself:

-Bishop Street, High Abbot Landgren, Commander Jordan, Torturer LeCraft, Captain Shely, High Commander Galvar Pureblood, Foreman Kaleiki, Nathrezim, Sinner's Folly, Saidan Dathrohan, Isillien, Balnazzar, Taelan Fordring, Grand Admiral Barean Westwind, High Inquisitor Valroth

-Marcarius, Aelina, Brigitte Abbendis, Goldring, Pendance, Gendal, Fulner, General Terandis, Xxy, Damion, Bethany Sindrea Abbendis


End file.
